nobody said, we're heroes
by dutiesofcare
Summary: Bonnie and Clyde AU. The Doctor is a charismatic convicted robber who sweeps Clara Oswald, an impressionable, petite, small-town girl, off her feet, and the two embark on one of the most infamous bank robbing sprees in England. Rated M for smut.
1. prologue

**A/N:** **Well, at first I'd just like to thank everybody who's been waiting so eagerly for this story - and I sincerely hope it won't disappoint.**

 **A special thank you to my beta and to Marion, who's drawn the cover art for this fanfic.**

* * *

 _You've read the story of Jesse James_ _  
_ _Of how he lived and died;_

 _If you're still in need_

 _Of something to read,_ _  
_ _Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde._

* * *

They had never believed in love at first sight.

Robbery at first sight, however…

* * *

The Doctor and Clara Oswald met when they both were attempting at robbing the same diamond ring.

After that unfortunate event, they just realized it would be best to steal the diamond ring _together_.

After that unusual conclusion, they decided against selling the diamond ring for money, instead keeping it as a memento of an anamnesis to the beginning of their brand new life together.

A life of crime and passion; a life of growing wealthy from the wealth of others.

They mostly did it for the fun of it, the high of living in constant danger and _always_ getting away with it. Their hearts beating so fast that time would slow down around them; the giddy feeling of endorphins flowing within their bodies. That addiction that had turned into something _impossible_ to turn away from that they'd even stop trying.

That kind of high — why would anyone even try to stop?

* * *

The Doctor popped the question one hazy day of spring, using the same diamond ring from their first encounter. It happened by the riverside, during the sunset, and the last rays of day sparkled on the precious rock almost as much as they made his eyes glow.

Even if they didn't glow from light; even if they glowed from love.

He didn't get down on his knees — no, he was against clichés. He just raised the ring in the air and Clara didn't need to be asked twice to yank it from his hold and put it on her finger. She stared at it for the longest time, her hand high, although her vision was much more focused on the heady universe of love and mischief in his eyes than the richness the stone provided her finger.

She never said _yes_ ; instead, once she managed to kick herself out of her own daze, she threw her arms around his neck, locking them so tightly she risked suffocating him. He spun her around several times, almost knocking both of them to the floor in his dizzy joy.

Their lips crashed against one another and their tongues sealed their promise of love. They never really married, _of course_ ; neither of them were the marrying type. The thrill flourished in being together with no strings attached, in being together because _they wanted_ to be together, because they couldn't bear the idea of staying far from each other, not because of some silly bond that casted them together.

Their love was their _strength,_ not their doom.

* * *

"So, how do you want to play this?"

Clara had a smug look upon her face, waiting for his elaborate plan. She was leaning against the wall, next to a hung poster of the most hideous sketch of them, _mocking_ the authorities. They didn't know they names, so the police had named them _Bonnie and Clyde_ — dogs names, like the beasts they were. England's most wanted, and England did a _nasty_ job of capturing them.

His brain was working ahead of his legs — although they did try to catch up, circling around himself in endless loops. Clara watched him with a smirk, feeling amused and more than a little aroused. He looked incredibly hot in his state of overthinking; his fingers holding a cigarette between his forefinger and middle finger, distractedly bringing it to the corner of his mouth and holding the smoke inside for a brief moment before blowing it out, nails occasionally scratching his poorly shaved beard, his gray curls building a halo around his head, his eyes burning with a fire ignited by desire.

If she could, oh if only she could, she would grab him by the collar, press his body against the wall and force their mouths together and—

"This is what we'll do," he announced, ending her sexually charged daydreams. He threw his cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with his foot. Even though he lacked the ability to read minds, he pressed each of his hands to the wall right above Clara's shoulder pads, his hot breath warming her faces with the grey air straight out of his lungs. "I'll play the innocent customer while you access the environment. As soon as you judge best, you'll draw your gun and demand they give you all the money they've got. They will give it to you, and go crying home afterwards over losing all their riches to a _girl_."

Clara licked her lips at their proximity, their hips grinding, _devouring_ him with her eyes. "What about you? What's your role in all this?"

"I'll be the _annoying and infuriating_ victim who refuses to get down on my knees, so you'll be forced to aim your gun at me and shoot — _idealistically_ missing — to teach the others a lesson not to cross you," he prompted, hovering his mouth just above the crook of her neck. _God,_ he wanted nothing more than to nibble the delicate skin there in front of him.

Clara felt all around his waist — with the main intention of _driving him insane_ , he was sure — and pulled out his gun. She devilishly met his eyes when she felt something _hard_ between his legs that wasn't the metal weapon.

The back of her hand _accidentally_ yet _intentionally_ caressed the fabric that hid his sex. "You might want to save that for later, dear. Your dominatrix will take care of you, don't worry."

She cried so softly and innocently, like she _didn't know_ the raspiness of her voice did the exact opposite to his body. He was a _disaster_ when it came to her; she had him completely under her spell, and she was _determined_ to keep it that way. "Clara."

Clara escaped from his hold before she surrendered herself to her darkest thoughts and _gave herself to him._ Her lips were still curved in a grin when she curled her index finger to gain his attention and have him follow her.

"Come on now, Doctor. We have a bank to rob."

* * *

Clara walked through the doors of the bank with tall, deliberately distracting steps. Her tight black skirt and salmon silk shirt attracted everybody's eyes as the doors announced her arrival. Underneath her coat, she held the gun firmly with her upper arm, pressing it to her torso as she played with her own hands. She had a smirk shaping the corner of her lips, and if all those male clients knew any better, they would know she wasn't winking to them, but to a tall, grey, handsome man whose grin nearly matched her own.

And yet, it took them almost three seconds to forget all about her and return to their businesses.

Clara traveled her tongue across the flesh of her lips, carefully walking around and trying to find the weakest link. She soon did, spotting from the corner of her eye the skinny, sweaty boy who lacked the age and the experience to be a bank manager. She despised the idea of how he was so privileged of his sex and color to be there, whereas she, a woman, would never even be offered such a job, not at her time and space.

Yes. He was her perfect victim. Just like she was the perfect victim of the patriarchal system she was trapped in. The system she was about to break. She drew her gun and yelled loudly.

" _Everybody down, now!_ "

The entire room turned into screams and shouts, and most of the people did a fair job of obeying her. Except for the agents, who instead raised from their seats with their hands high in the air. _Except_ for a certain grey-haired man, who was looking for _trouble_.

Clara had both hands on the gun, fingers twitching on its trigger. She circled around several times, making sure all the customers had obeyed her; she landed her aim at a certain _Doctor_. She provoked, "Are you deaf? I said, _down_."

The Doctor amusedly sauntered towards her. "Or what, are you going to shoot me? I'm sorry, my dear, I very much doubt you have it in you," he teased, "You see, you're a woman, you're _fragile_ , your heart impedes you from causing any harm to _anybody_. Maybe, if you had been born a man… But you weren't, so let's just end this _joke_ right here."

Coming from any other man, she surely wouldn't have missed their _head_ when she pressed the trigger and shots echoed inside the building. The shells ricocheted through a window, and glass shattered all over the floor. With her eyes _burning,_ she repeated, "I said, _down_."

Defeatedly, the Doctor dropped to his knees, keeping both his hands behind his head. Clara swung her gun to the cashier she had pre-selected, "Give me your money. And don't you try to do anything funny, because I _will_ start shooting. And I won't miss this time."

The shaky boy swallowed hard, grabbing all the money from the safe just behind him and shoving it inside a bag, which he handed her with difficulty, since his limbs wouldn't stop trembling so hard he could barely hang on to it. The smile on her face was devious as she accepted it, leaning forward against the counter that separated them and caressed his pale face with the muzzle. She was high on his fear. "Thank you, sweetheart."

She laughed when she finally let go of him, and the tension left his trembling body immediately. She was still laughing when she walked backwards to the entrance, politely waving her hand goodbye as she disappeared.

No one dared to say anything, still too in shock about what had just happened. That was, except for the Doctor, who was already back up in his feet and saying sentences of the sort, "Don't you all worry. I'll fix it. I'll get your money back, if you'll excuse me."

And he ran towards the exit, leaving the vain hope in the air that he would fix everything and an even greater fright when he didn't return and everybody assumed she had killed him for good.

* * *

The Doctor chased Clara inside their house, tickling her and yanking frenetic laughs and yelps from her lips. She was desperately trying to escape his attacks while still holding to the bag of money they had just gotten, until she tripped on her own feet and landed right in his arms.

The Doctor trapped her from behind within his embrace, both arms crossed around her belly. He deliriously kissed all over her face and neck, dampening her skin with his lips and tongue. Clara's knees went weak, and soon, she lost her balance, tears of laughter still in her eyes, as she fell deeper inside his ambush. Out of breath, she still tried to beg for mercy _,_ "Stop, oh God, stop."

He dug his teeth into the crook of her neck, sucking her skin roughly — she was sure it would leave a mark. Her grip on the bag she somehow still held lost its strength, and it fell to the floor with little noise. Her hands pressed tightly to his wrists on her stomach, "Oh, fuck me."

He brought her even closer against him, grinding his hips against the curve of her asscheeks, igniting the fire until they were burning. "That's what I'm going to do, dear."

" _Fuck,_ " she repeated, at last managing to turn around and they stood face to face. Clara hungrily shoved her tongue into his mouth and devoured his inside, savouring every little inch of him, tasting the sweet taste of him, catching his lower lip between the sharpness of her teeth.

Her fingers traveled along the silver sea of curls of his hair, sending sparks shooting all the way down his spine. She slightly bent her knees to get some height as she jumped onto him, locking her legs around his waist. Weren't for all the clothes they _still_ wore, they would be fucking right there.

* * *

The Doctor let Clara's body fall to the mattress of their bed, and the springs screeched. He chewed the lobes of her ear, getting her hips to buck and twitch in an unending loop. Her nails dug deeply into his back, sending palpitations to his heart.

Her lips and tongue traced lines across the borders of his face, her arms wrapped around his neck and almost _suffocating_ him, but still succeeding in bringing him so near her their bodies would soon collapse and merge. He was so lost within her spell he never expected what was about to happen.

She quickly rolled their bodies until she was on top of him. Never tearing their kiss apart, she undid his belt and brought it completely out of the belt loop. Her hands caressed their way back up to this shoulders, where she wrapped her nimble fingers around each of his thick wrists, holding them up over his head, enchanting him with the lips she still had fixed on his. He still didn't see it coming.

He was just completely confused when he felt what seemed to be some fabric locking his hands together and restraining his movements.

"Clara?" he was lost, dazed, and failed to form any other word besides her name.

"Shh," she shushed him, placing her index finger over his lips, whilst her free hand tied the belt tighter around his wrists before affixing it to one of the headboard bars. He was under _her_ mercy. She was completely in control of him.

"Oh God," he cried hoarsely, trying not too strenuously to free himself, to no success.

Clara straddled his lap, even though they still hadn't lost a single piece of clothing. She lowered her torso down, brushing her fingertips so delicately along his face, his chin, his neck, like he was some work of art that she dreaded to break. She whispered, "I'm afraid _God_ can't help you now."

"Fuck," he exhaled, leaning forwards in an attempt to touch her, almost like he had forgotten the fabric holding him back. " _Fuck,_ Clara."

She merely chuckled at his desperation, her hands invading underneath his tee and feeling the tickle of his body hair against her palms. Her nails scratched a faint, red pattern up and down his skin, as she watched with interest the goosebumps that followed their path. The Doctor thought she had acquired the ability to read his mind when she pulled his shirt above his head, abandoning it up near his wrists.

She then became entranced by his pink nipples, and she caught one of them, rolling it between her thumb and index, closely watching for his response. The low, growling moan that escaped his throat assured her of his enjoyment, so she did the same to the opposite one. The Doctor shut his eyes, concentrating on this newfound paradise, intending to feel her divine touch on him even more intensely than he already was.

The rock between his legs was struggling to break free — she knew; she could feel the organ's desperate lurches against the fabric imprisoning it. Slowly, she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down, alongside his underwear, and he soon laid there completely naked before her. With his knees, he tried to turn over and force himself into a sitting position, but she stopped him abruptly, forcing him back down brutally.

Her fingers loosely wrapped around his shaft, and she whispered in his ear, "Beg."

And the Doctor admitted defeat the moment he succumbed himself to her fantasies — and what a glorious defeat it was. " _Please,_ Clara."

She tightened the grip around his aching member, but not enough to cause any useful level of friction. "Like you mean it."

He would soon choke in his own desperate need. "I am _begging_ you, Clara. I _need_ to feel myself inside of you, I want to see the stars and feel them burning in our veins as we drive towards our peak, together."

It was enough — for now. Rubbing her hand up and down, she lowered her head to the throbbing. twitching organ in between his legs, the tip of his erection _millimeters_ away from her mouth. His hips gained a life of their own when they leaned closer and brushed his penis against her luscious, teasingly closed lips, begging for entrance. He would surely need to be punished for that impetuous movement, _later._

Succumbing to her needs as much as to his _,_ Clara parted her lips, and formed a hungry, heated opening, enveloping the tip of his penis, and began caressing it with her tongue. She started to suck lightly, her teeth delicately grazing across his foreskin. Even holding him down by his hips, she couldn't keep him from bucking, trying to get more of that wet heat around his shaft. Once his movements slowed, she decided to repay him a bit for his patience.

She sank her head down, taking in every bit of his shaft that she could. With her hands, she gently squeezed his balls, only intensifying the cries that desperately broke through his throat. _He was frantic_ ; he had no idea how much longer he would be able to stand the mind-blowing torture she was putting him through.

In a steady rhythm, her neck traveled up and down, her tongue pressing hard against the large vein along the bottom of his rock-hard length as she went along. The Doctor raised his head to look at her, only to find her already staring at him; the image of her _devouring_ him was so hot he could feel his climax building up even faster.

And he was _so_ close. He was going to, any moment now, if only she didn't—

Clara abruptly climbed off him, a small pool of her saliva cooling at the base of his penis. His breathing pattern was rather quick; he tried almost desperately to break free and find himself the orgasm she had abruptly _refused_ to give to him — he couldn't. He followed her with his eyes, watching as she stripped herself for him: tugged her tee within her fingers and pulled them out of her head, unclasped her skirt and allowed it to slip to the floor, detached her bra and removed her panties. She freed herself of all her clothes without ceremony and stood naked, just like him. Her breasts bounced up and down as she approached him by the head of the bed; he had his glare fixated on her brushing and rubbing her own nipples — were it to allow herself with the pleasures of the flesh or to drive him insane. Oh, he wished he could have her tits in his mouth.

She sank her knees to the soft mattress, right next to his head. His stare had dropped to her pinky sex; the smell of her desire was stronger than ever. He brought his head upwards the most he was able to, his lips half open and his mouth salivating at the sight. His hard erection twitched as he witnessed her fingers pressing to her throbbing clit, his eyes filling with water at the growing need of having her.

He was almost relieved when she climbed over him once more.

But not in an _ordinary_ way. He hadn't even considered what she was about to do, so lost had he been in his own desires.

Breaking his expectations of feeling her tight inner walls grasping his penis, he was surprised when she knelt directly above his head, facing away from him, her entrance perfectly aligned with his mouth. The scent of her sex penetrated from his nose straight to his brain, and he was sure he could _drown_ in the wetness of her vagina. She sank down on him and he hungrily started eating her out.

His tongue cleansed her labium, pushing deeply into the heat in between her folds. She didn't declare any profane words, but her clit throbbing harder and faster against his lips, and the continual supply of moisture coming from her depths, assured him he was doing it _right_. He gently nibbled her clitorus, shooting spasms throughout her entire body.

"Fuck me, _now_ ," she demanded, and though he wasn't positioned to argue, he was happy to oblige her. He worked his tongue as fast and hard as he could, tracing circles around her clit, flicking it, _knowing_ she wouldn't last long with his quick pace. Her hips started grinding against his face, accumulating the orgasm that would soon hit her. He intensified his movements.

Her panting was loud and erratic. She landed her hands on his hips — he concluded to find herself some balance; hence why it came to him as a complete surprise when her spine bent forward and her hot mouth returned to his penis. Faster, more desperately, trying to match his tempo and allow him the same pleasures she was receiving. Soon after, she reached her climax, drenching his face in her girly cum; he didn't stop, driving her insane with all the friction.

Her orgasm nearly caused her to choke on his cock; she didn't, though, and instead it accelerated her movements, forcing him to come inside her mouth. He wasn't able to stop his hips from thrusting towards her face, racing, and racing, and racing, until he bucked furiously one last time, hitting the back of her throat, and she was forced to swallow all of his sperm when she daren't back away.

After a few seconds of pure astonishment, Clara managed to fall off from him, landing on her back to his side. It took her even longer to leave her daze and join him by the head of the bed, kissing him deeply; they both could taste themselves in the other's mouth. Not breaking their salvage kiss, she finally untied him.

Enjoying the regained freedom of his hands, the Doctor pressed them strongly to the back of her head, pulling her deeper into their kiss. One of them descended along her body, seducing her skin, sending shivers along her spine, where his fingers slid down, until—

He roughly slapped her in the ass, so harshly it would _surely_ leave a red reminder of his fingers there. She broke away immediately, shock written all over her face; he didn't allow her the chance to speak. "You naughty little girl."

"Oh, yeah?" she teased, eyes sparkling in lust, "And what are you going to do about that?"

The Doctor struck her once more — she didn't even flinch. "You're going to pay for your sins, Clara Oswald."

She didn't say anything else when he suddenly mounted her from behind. Her breaths became quick and ragged, anticipating whatever punishment he had in mind. Clara tried to shift underneath him, but he was stronger than her. She felt him grazing his hard penis across both her holes, making her anxious at the torture of which one he would dare to entrance.

He forced her legs wide open, the tip of his dick at times entering her vagina, at other times, breaching her ass. One of his long, powerful hands wrapped nearly all the way around her throat, not tight enough to be in danger of suffocating her, but still plenty snug to allow him to feel her desperate heartbeat against his palm. "You want this so _desperately_ I can feel the tears in the corner of your eyes."

He was right — but she would _never_ so easily give herself in to him. Her airway became even more obstructed when he let go of her neck, only to pull her head back by her hair. Her tits were flying in the air, her nipples becoming little rocks that ached for his mouth, his teeth.

The tip of his index penetrated the first inch of her bum, and she drew her breath in even more sharply. _She could feel it coming at any time_ ; the wait he inflicted upon her only made it all the harder to wait. She counted to ten, _twelve_ , waiting for his next move, waiting, waiting, waiting—

The Doctor pushed himself into her vagina at full force, burying his shaft, like a sword, to the hilt. And it hurt—oh God, it hurt—and she loved the pain the most. At first, he was still, giving her the opportunity to accommodate to his length inside of her, and then, the beast in him took over.

He pounded against her like a dog howling in its rut. Ferociously, hungrily, her vagina felt like heaven around him. He lifted her top half and cupped both her boobs with each of his hands, gluing her back to his hairy torso. She panted heavily, her body _weak_ under the mercy of his — and he didn't have any to give.

His hot breath tickled the hair behind her neck and her hands traveled backwards, until they were holding each of his butt cheeks; digging her nails into them, urging him to speed up even more and more.

She came again, her jaw fallen down at the sensations exploding in her, traveling her nerves and pouring all the chemical reactions into her veins and arteries. Tears of pleasure and joy freely descended her cheeks, especially when he kept thrusting her from behind. Even faster now, at the extra heat and tightness warmness her orgasm had gripped his shaft with, not allowing him to think of anything else.

By the time he finally reached his climax, Clara was frenzied. His hot liquids filled her up, and he collapsed above her; tiredly, out of breath. She was unable to move a single muscle, her head resting sideways across the pillow. He was heavy above her, nearly crushing the _life_ out of her, until he rolled to her side, heaving chest facing the ceiling, body drenched in their sweat. When he dared to look at her, he came across her pupils wide and her eyes wild, seemingly deep enough to swallow him whole. He delicately rubbed his thumb across her applecheek, clearing away the path of tears lodged there. She attempted a smile at his gentle gesture, although she was so drained of energy she doubted she had succeeded.

" _God_ ," the Doctor cried, bringing himself closer to her, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulling her into his embrace. "I love you so much."

She inhaled his scent, her nose and mouth embed in the crook of his neck. She achieved to say before perishing away in her sleep, "I love you, too."

* * *

 **A/N: Any feedback here or on twitter (dutiesofcare) is much appreciated :)**


	2. his demons

**A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter holds mentions of a past sexual assault, nothing explicit, but if you feel any triggered by this, then please don't read it.**

* * *

 _There I fell for the line of a "henchman,_  
 _A professional killer from Chi;_  
 _I couldn't help loving him madly;_ _  
_For him even now I would die.

* * *

The Doctor sat up in a panic, his heart pounding faster than normal. It was dark, too dark; the night had full possession of the skies and the moon was hidden behind clouds. He didn't dare to move, the sound of his erratic breaths taking over the entire room.

Clara shifted in her sleep, having been disturbed by his sudden movement. Somehow, she managed to mumble, hoarsely, "Doctor? What are you doing? Come back to bed."

"Sh," he silenced her, waving his hand in the general direction of her face; not that she would see it, amidst the darkness, even had her eyes been able to open themselves. She was more than ready to succumb again to the depths of sleep, with or without his body there to snuggle against.

Except, she couldn't; she could feel his pulse against her palm, and his heart was beating so loudly inside of him it _scared_ her. "Doctor, what's going on?" Clara begged, her tone lower than before, trying to find him in the blackness, but only managing to find the outlines of his shape. She forced her fatigued body up as well, burying her chin in his shoulder.

He shivered underneath her touch, although didn't push her away. Knowing she was _there,_ both physically and as a metaphor on how she would always have his back, brought some sense of comfort to him. Clara was startled when he flinched out of the blue. "Put some clothes on, _now_."

His words were harsh, but she didn't take it personally. Neither did she dare to move, not until she heard a faint thud coming from downstairs. Clara wrapped both her hands around his upper arm, her own heart threatening to jump out her throat. "Doctor."

His head immediately traced her, the sparkle inside their iris creating a path for their eye contact. He pressed a quick — and somehow prolonged — peck of a kiss to her forehead. "Do it."

As quietly as they knew how to be, they climbed out of bed. She had no idea _which_ of her clothes she ended up grabbing, putting them on nonetheless. The Doctor not only clothed himself, but fetched his gun from the back of closet as well — a gun she had no idea was rooted there.

"Stay here," he ordered, standing just behind the bedroom door, "Lock it up. Don't open for anyone except me."

Her head trembled sideways in an almost unending loop. "No. I'm coming with you. I'm not letting anything happen to you."

"Clara—" he had a whole of a fight to give her over this, although it was halted when the delicate banging came from closer than before. "Alright, just… Stay behind me. And don't let go."

Even though he couldn't see it, she nodded, wrapping her fingers around the fabric of the back of his tee. The soles of their shoes ranged against the concrete the floor was made of, but not loudly enough to draw anyone's attention — or at least they hoped so.

Their pace towards the stairwell was quick and stealthy, careful and anxious. The Doctor leaned over the handrail, squinting his eyes in an attempt to see _anything_ amidst the darkness. There was a slight ray of light moving around, like the carry of a flashlight, but he failed to see whoever might have been carrying it.

Not until after shots were fired at them.

" _Shit,_ " he cursed under his breath. His first instinct was to back down and shield Clara behind him, who was now evidently shaking behind him. He aimed his gun downstairs and fired at no specific direction. "We have to get out of here."

The Doctor was obliged to pull Clara by her arm, for she was so terrified she had lost control over her own ability to move. Had she tripped over the flight of stairs, her brain would have failed to acknowledge it. Even as they rushed downstairs, he didn't stop shooting at whoever was shooting at them.

If only he hadn't run out of bullets.

The click of his empty barrel announced to the intruders their preys' potential defeat. They stood just at the bottom step of the staircase, the Doctor still hovering over her like a hawk. The flashlight torched in their direction; they leaned back to escape the light, successfully, at least.

" _Bonnie! Clyde! It's over now! Come out peacefully and it'll be easier for you!"_

The police officer was yelling, his voice coming closer, then fading again into the distance and into the dark; he didn't know where they were hiding. How could he, when the darkness was swallowing them all in its velvet depth. The Doctor searched for Clara with his eyes, assuming he had found her when he whispered lower than the crack of dawn, "We need to get out of here, Clara."

"How?!" she managed to howl a hushed scream, "We're stuck here, Doctor! Between us and the door, there's a thousand bullets just waiting to take us down!"

Cupping each side of her jaw, he pressed his forehead against hers. Clara could hear the tears in his eyes, "I'm not letting you go to jail, Clara. I can't. I won't."

Their noses slightly touched; his was warm, hers was cold. "It's okay, Doctor. I'll be okay, alright?"

He could hear the cry in her voice, too. "I have a plan. Just be ready to run. My love."

* * *

The officer's first mistake was judging them for naïve fools.

The Doctor searched his inner pockets for something — _anything, as_ quietly as possible, especially when they were definitely bigger on the inside and carried lots of lousy noisy stuff, or so had Clara once claimed. He just wished she could see the smile stamped on his mouth when he found whatever he was looking for.

The officer's second mistake was being so easily led.

The Doctor raised a screwdriver in the air — he had it in case he'd have to stab someone in a less orthodoxic way during one of their robberies — obviously, he had never found use for it, except for Clara's incessant bantering over it — it brought him comfort, however, and that was all that mattered —, aimed it at any direction at all and threw it harshly; so long as he didn't hit the marshall in the head, all would go smoothly according to plan. Or perhaps, was he unlucky enough to hit him, he would possibly be knocked down or at least have one eye blinded. He didn't know anymore whether to celebrate or not when it crashed, _loudly,_ against a wooden surface on the opposite side of the room, attracting the detective's attention to it.

The officer's third mistake was leaving the front door open in attempts of receiving some luminescence from the lamps outside.

The Doctor intertwined his fingers around hers, pulling her quickly to her feet and forcing her out ahead of him, just in case the officer's delay was a little shorter than he anticipated and he dared to shoot at them; he would be one to get wounded. He refused to consider the fact that Clara would most likely drop to his side and cry over his injured — if not dead — body, rather than to run for her life, like he would have wanted her to. That day, however, he didn't have to worry about it.

She didn't need to wait for his command to climb in the passenger seat and tightly wrap the seat belt around her, missing the buckle with her trembling hands several times before succeeding it. The Doctor didn't even waste his time considering putting it on, too busy shoving the keys in the ignition and pressing the pedals at full force. The wheels shrieked against the pavement as they gained speed.

Neither of them dared to look back, not to the life they were leaving behind, not to the sound of the few bullets fired into the trunk of the car. Not when they managed their escape and faded away into the million streets of London.

The Doctor placed one of his hands on her thigh, offering it gentle squeezes. He tried stealing a look from her eyes, but she was completely phased out. "We're gonna be alright, Clara. Okay? I promise you. We're gonna be just fine."

He couldn't be certain whether her head was nodding or simply shaking in shock. Still, she managed to answer him, though her words were breathless and weak, "I know."

She knew.

So long as they still had one another to lean on, they'd be just fine.

* * *

Clara's body was entirely sore when she came back to herself. Her eyes were heavy and drowsy, taking their time to adjust to the first rays of sunshine breaking through the windscreen. There was dust in the corner of them, and she used the hand that was previously being used as a pillow against the hard surface of the window glass she had her head leaned against to clean it off.

Her mouth was dry, she swallowed down her own saliva to alleviate her thirst. She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the remnants of last night's disturbed sleep still perpetuating them. When she forced her body onto a sitting position, a leather black jacket that was previously wrapped around her torso fell to her lap — a jacket she hadn't noticed there, but had her fair suspicions of how it had ended up there. It was the same jacket the Doctor had been wearing when they had been forced out of their home.

Suppressing a yawn, she turned her head, expecting to find him behind the wheel. She didn't. At last, she noticed the car wasn't shifting underneath her and the engines were dead. She panicked; not at the prospect she was completely alone in the middle of the road, but at the idea something had happened to _him._

Struggling with the seatbelt buckle, she released herself. Her fingers trembled against the door handle, but she managed to open it and stumble her way out — her legs were still a little numb after the uncomfortable position she had been sleeping in. She didn't bother shutting the door behind her.

Clara squinted her eyes and searched across the horizon, trying to find him somewhere along the deserted road. The skies were purple, and she guessed it couldn't be much later than 5AM, explaining the cold breeze chilling her body; she was thankful the Doctor had left her his jacket, although she couldn't help but wonder whether he was cold, too. Placing her hands on her hips, she finally found a dark spot a few miles ahead of her. She walked towards it.

The closer she was, the better she could make his shape amidst the dark. She doubted he had even seen or heard her approaching, not until she emerged into the corner of his vision field, hesitant and scared to disturb him.

The Doctor tried to force a smile upon his lips, but his muscles failed to oblige to his brain commends. He uttered softly, "I'm sorry to have left you alone in there. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, I didn't want to perturb you."

She granted him a small smile in response; she had other issues on her mind. "Are you alright?"

He had his back leaned against a fence, his legs struggling to keep him up and feet cricked on the floor. Both his hands were pressed against each side of his jaw, rubbing the beard that was just starting to grow. His eyes failed to focus on her or anything else, lost somewhere in the landscape. His forehead had a light sheen of sweat, yet his clothes were dry, indicating it had been a while since he decided to take a walk. The vein in his forehead was pulsing hard, harder than the normal rate for a heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling quickly, his lungs unsteady with the oxygen they were directed offered.

Still, he ignored all of his body signs. "I'm sorry we had to leave in such a hurry. I know… I know this changes everything. I just… I have no idea how they might have our found us, found our place. I'm sorry I've let you down."

Clara came closer, until their bodies were just a few inches apart, but she daren't initiate any form of physical contact. "This isn't your fault, Doctor. I don't blame you, I could _never_ blame you."

Her words were lost in the wind. "How are you handling all this?"

She sadly shook her head. "No, I don't want to talk about myself. Tell me where it hurts."

His gaze followed right past her. "Hm? I'm fine, Clara."

"No, you're not," she stated, "Tell me, is something wrong? You can count on me. I'm here for you."

The draft howled around his body; unlike her, he didn't even flinch. "Clara."

Delicately, Clara wrapped both her hands around each of his wrists and pulled him down, until they were both sitting above the dirt of the sides of the road. She didn't let go of him once they were settled, offering him all of her strength, all of _his_ strength, through the simple hold. She repeated, "Tell me where it hurts."

His pupils grew wider and his glare was attracted to the floor, fixating itself on the gravel scratching against his legs. "It is _hell_ , Clara."

She tightened her grip around his fists, encouraging him to let it all out, but not forcing him ahead of his time.

"They _broke_ me, Clara," he cried, the despair echoing in his voice, his eyes bright from the tears reflected on them, tears he refused to shed. "They hurt me there, in ways I never thought myself capable of getting hurt. They hurt me for crimes that I didn't commit."

Clara remained silent, and simply listened. In that moment, she wasn't entitled to _words,_ not now that he'd invited her to a part of his life that he had never until now found it in himself to tell her. This was the nightmare that still haunted his dreams and woke him up in a fright in the middle of the night.

"If they damaged me that badly, I can't even imagine what they would do to you," his voice was gradually growing hoarser. For the first time, he dared to look at her eyes. "I can't let you go to jail, Clara. I can't let you get hurt."

Her heart became heavy inside of her — even amidst his darkest terrors, his main concern was _her_. Always her. Even though she wished he would take himself into consideration for once. "Doctor, I…"

Their eye contact was broken again; he wasn't strong enough to look at the windows of her gentle and kind soul and tell her the burden he would carry to his grave. "I _killed_ him, Clara. I had never killed anyone before, I never killed anyone after that. But he… He ruined me, Clara. I killed that guard in a moment of weakness and the worst is… The worst is, I don't regret it a bit. I'd do it all over again, for me, for you, for _anyone_ who ever fell victim to acts of the men of his kind."

Her lips fell open at the confession; _she had no idea._ Not of his crime, not of the pain he had endured. She knew he had gone to prison for being at the wrong place, at the wrong time, but he had never confided what happened during his sentence — not because he didn't _trust_ her, but because he didn't want his nightmares to haunt her, too. "How… How did you get out?"

"There was this bloke there already doing life in prison. He took the blame for me. A friend, the only friend I had in there," he said with guilt, "He took the fall so I could get out and meet _you_."

"Then I'm forever grateful for what he did," she whispered, the tears piling up in her own eyes. Stubborn tears that weren't supposed to be there. "Doctor, I'm… I'm so sorry this happened to you."

He was on the edge of breaking down. Yet, he couldn't stop; it was a relief having all that weight off his shoulders. "Sometimes, I still feel him inside of me. It's like… He'll never come off. He's forever _in_ me. His smell, the way he looked at me, the way he forced me down on my knees… Everything imprinted into me, into the man I am today, into my _soul_. He destroyed me, and even if I did everything I could to _move on,_ part of me will _always_ be lost on the things he forced me to do. Clara, I… I…"

Clara was no longer able to hold herself back. She pulled him into her embrace and held his head against her chest, burying her nose in the curls of his hair, caressing the skin in the back of his neck with the smoothness of her fingertips. She hugged him firmly, rocking him in a lullaby only she could hear, until his erratic breaths turned into breathless sobs.

Seeing him so fragile broke her heart. "Shh. It's okay. You're okay. He's _dead,_ he can't get to you anymore. You're safe now, no one can hurt you again. I promise, I'll keep you safe."

By the end of her sentence, he had buried her face deeper between her breasts, unable to control his crying. Even though he was muffled by the fabric of her shirt, she could still hear him perfectly, "I can't let you go to jail, Clara. I can't let them break you, hurt you, _ruin_ you. You don't deserve it, Clara, you don't deserve the pain they will put you through."

She was sniffing the scent of his hair intensely, an attempt to replace her growing desire to _cry_ for his smell, a smell that brought her _comfort._ "You didn't deserve it either, Doctor. You weren't supposed to be in that prison cell, you weren't supposed to be in his company. It's not your fault, Doctor. It's that guard's fault, it's the _system that trapped you there's_ fault. Nobody ever deserves this kind of pain, of torture, of… hell."

He was shaking within her arms, all the control he previously had over his body lost amidst his sorrows. "I'll _kill_ us. I'll kill you, and I'll kill me, but I will _not_ allow you to spend one second in that place."

His confession sent shivers down her spine; he was so hazardous she didn't doubt for a second he would fulfill his threat, his _promise_. Clara bent down her neck and kissed his tears, leaving her lips lodged there. "And I love you for that."

She loved him for so much more, but his promise to _kill_ her to protect her from any future suffering weighed on her heart, on her soul. She didn't notice the tears finally escaping her eyes and falling onto her face, mixing with his own. He wrapped his fingers around the collar of her tee, pulling her as close as he could. "The idea of you getting hurt in that way hurts so much more than the hurting I endured, Clara. I'll kill us both, before _it_ kills us."

"I know, Doctor, I know," she said in a whisper, rubbing her fingers through his hair. His sobbing was slowly coming to an end, resolving in a current flow of silent tears. He held on to her tightly, as if he would never dare to let go of her. "It's going to be just fine, I promise. You said so yourself, hm? They can't get us. They have no idea where we've gone. We're safe, Doctor."

Even at his most vulnerable self in her embrace, the Doctor caught her lips with his, the only purpose being to take the oxygen straight out of her own chest. She didn't deepen the kiss, only allowed him to _feed_ himself with the strength of her love for him.

"We're safe," he made her words his, at last unwrapping himself from her lap. He felt _guilty_ for the wet path descending her cheeks; he wept it away with the tip of his fingers. "I've never told anybody my story."

Clara grabbed his hand on her face and cupped her own jawline with it. "I know, love. There's nothing to be ashamed of. What happened to you doesn't _indignify,_ doesn't _shame_ you, or the person you are today. And most importantly, no matter what you might think, I will never stop loving you. Not for this, not for anything else."

He pressed his hand firmer to her cheek. "How was I ever so lucky to find you?"

"Not luck," she corrected, a smug smile across her lips, "You were just unfortunate enough to try to steal my diamond ring."

He scoffed, working his way up to his feet with a little of her help, "If I remember correctly, it wasn't _your_ diamond ring."

She squinted her eyes towards the rock on her ring finger. "It is, however, on _my_ hand."

He placed his fingers at the base of her spine, down where her soul was seated, conducting her up the hill that led to where their car was parked. "Just because it isn't _yours,"_ he playfully growled, "It doesn't mean it doesn't belong _there_."

* * *

 **A/N: I did some research on Bonnie and Clyde's life before writing this story, and Clyde Barrow really fell victim to the sexual abuse of a guard while he was in prison, and I decided to bring this event into this story to give some background to the characters and show how they've become who they are today. As always, any feedback here or on twitter (dutiesofcare) is much appreciated.**


	3. her demons

**A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter holds mentions of a past domestic violence, nothing explicit, but if you feel any triggered by this, then please don't read it.**

* * *

 _I left my old home for the city_ _  
_ _To play in its mad, dizzy whirl,_ _  
_ _Not knowing how little pity_ _  
_ _It holds for a country girl._

* * *

They drove for about an hour or so, with no destination in mind, when the car's fuel gauge indicated the tank was running low. They had no alternative than to stop at a gas station.

However, neither of them dared to step out at first.

The Doctor was pensive, both hands pressed strongly to the wheel, even after he had turned the engines off. There was nobody else around except for the owners, who had their store already open, despite the still early hours of morning. His grip over the hard surface weakened itself and soon his limbs had fallen to his lap.

"Bad new is," he began, voice lower than a whisper, as they both carefully scanned the area outside the windscreen, "They broke into our house, which means they must have found pictures of us, actual proper pictures, not hideous sketches. They must have found documents with our _real_ names. Unless they're completely _useless_ and didn't search the place, which I wouldn't put past those pudding brains, but I'm not willing to base our safety, our lives, on that conjecture. So, let's just assume that they do have our pictures and our names. They know what we look like. Good new is, it's still early, they haven't had the time to print our faces in the papers."

"For now," her words barely made it past the lips that shaped them; he heard her anyway.

"For now," he repeated, a nod of his head so slight he doubted he had even performed such a movement. "But it's okay, we're in the perfect window to find ourselves some money."

Clara didn't need to be a genius to understand his implication. "You want us to rob this store?"

It wasn't much of a question; she was more distrustful of him than anything else. "We _need_ the money, Clara. We don't have much of an alternative."

She brought her arms crossed beneath her breasts. "I don't like this, Doctor, I don't like this at all," her voice was calm, but strong. "We rob _banks_ , we rob the _system._ Not small facilities that _rely_ on this money for their subsistence. We'd never do that."

It wasn't that he was angry at _her,_ but at the entirety of the situation; including at _himself._ Hence why he raised his tone, "We also need that money for _our_ subsistence, Clara. We don't have a choice! We don't have money for a roof above our heads, we don't money for gas, we don't have money for _food_ — and it wasn't _my_ stomach groaning and howling during our entire journey."

"So it's on me, now?" Clara angrily spat, "Not on _us_?!"

He banged his temple against the window so violently there was a loud noise; it probably left him a red mark. He softened his voice, "No, no. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, Clara, I just… We're fucked up. Don't you see? We're fucking screwed. And if we don't do this, as _wrong_ as it is, we won't last much longer."

She rubbed her index and thumb against each of her closed eyelids. " _Fine._ Let's just get done with it already."

Her disapproval of his plan spoke to his heart — if only they had any other alternative. "Grab the gun from the glove compartment. You'll demand the money while I fetch us the most food and water I can."

She did as she was told. "The barrel is empty," she reminded him, her voice monotonous and lifeless.

"They don't need to know that," he argued, climbing out of the car. She followed him.

After adding fuel to the tank, both of them proceeded to the store. The bell rang, announcing their arrival to the clerks behind the counter. Clara granted them the most genuine smile she had to offer, one that said _I'm terribly sorry I'll have to rob you in a few moments._ She handed a basket to the Doctor, walking right behind him and throwing random snacks into it. Prolonging those people's traumaless lives the most she could.

"Go," he instructed, staying behind to finish filling the bin.

Taking a long breath to ease herself, she nodded. She surely looked _haunted_ when she stopped a few feet away from the cashier, earning worried looks from the couple behind it. "Miss? Are you okay?"

And Clara was unable to free herself from the haunted look on her face when she tremblingly pulled out her weapon. If she didn't know any better — she was starting to think she didn't — she would have sworn there were tears welling up in her eyes. "Pass all of your money over. _Now."_

They both immediately held their hands up, the woman taking three steps backwards until she reached the far wall. The man waved his arms up and down in a panic, "You don't have to do this."

"I do, I'm sorry," she tried to impose firmness in her tone, failing miserably. Her politeness clearly contradicted her actions, "Just give me the money, _please_."

" _Mummy?"_

Clara felt her knees growing weak beneath her when she noticed a little girl, who couldn't be older than six years old, hiding behind her mother's legs. She couldn't deny the tears forming in her eyes anymore. The gun was certainly spiralling in the air; she had no control over her own body. "Please, don't make this any harder than it already is. _Please._ "

The man nodded his head several times. "Alright, just… Just don't hurt them, okay? I'll give you the money," his movements were slow and unsteady as he opened the money drawer and grabbed all the bills he had in there, tossing them on the hard surface of the counter. "It's all here, I promise. It's been a slow month, we've been struggling."

Still holding the pistol high in the air, she counted the money. There was little above 300 pounds, more than they would probably need for the upcoming days. She threw them 50 bucks back. "You might need it. _Thank you_."

She concluded the Doctor was pulling her back when her legs unconsciously started to walk backwards. Her assertion was confirmed when he pushed her out of the door, forcing her to run towards their car. She stumbled, and if he hadn't placed his arm around her waist and held her upright, she would have surely fallen to the ground — she doubted she would manage to stand back up on her own, either. She felt like she was going into shock.

Once they were inside the car, he carefully removed the gun from her hands, even though it held no bullets inside. He had no alternative than to drive away as she buried her head in her palms, trying to keep everything she was feeling inside.

* * *

"Stop the car."

The Doctor was taken by surprise by her demand, especially when they had spent the last fifteen minutes in excruciating silence, a silence too heavy and too full of burden for either of them to dare to break. He assumed it was something of immense import when _she_ did, immediately pulling over.

The coach hadn't even come to full stop when she jumped out of the vehicle. Clara didn't falter when she rushed to the bushes and emptied her stomach, a stomach that hadn't much content in the first place — she hadn't managed to eat anything since dinner the previous night.

Howling sounds escaped her throat as she threw up, hands pressed against her thighs, her spine bent forward. She flinched when a pair of hands pulled back her hair, before tracing lines and circle motions on her back.

When she finally sensed herself _hollow_ , she didn't find it in her _guts_ to turn around and face him. Both her _soul and body_ were trembling, she had no control over herself — even though she had held all the control over the crimes she had just committed; she didn't stop herself back them, this was her punishment for her sins. The guilt.

She was weak at the knees. She would have most likely tripped in her attempt to get back to the car, wasn't it for the Doctor there to _catch_ her. She pushed him away almost instantaneously, no matter how _hard_ it was to find her balance on her own. She stood with her back to him.

"Clara?"

The way he pronounced her name was borderline _infuriating_ ; he had the ability to say _so much_ in those two syllables only. Sometimes, she wish she could forbid him from saying her name, _at all._ Angrily, she spat, "I'm _fine_."

"No," he carefully approached her, never once daring to initiate the physical contact, never once daring to walk around her until their eyes had met again, "You're not."

"Fine, I'm _not,_ " she agreed, rage consuming each and every one of her veins. "And it's completely _your_ fault. I hat—"

Clara couldn't complete her sentence, she couldn't vocalize what wasn't true without fearing she would damage what could not be fixed. She didn't _hate_ him, she could never hate him. But she desperately needed someone to blame and he was _there_. She was too tired from blaming herself — she had already spent the majority of her life doing that, she had _no more_ blame to offer.

"Say it, Clara," he demanded, _provoked._ He wasn't looking for a fight, he simply desired to trigger her until she _opened up_ and confessed her worst demons. Two birds of a feather they were; never talking about their deepest secrets, not until it became _too much_ for them to bear on their own.

The first rule they established when they first became acquainted — although never out loud, it was no more than a mutual silent agreement: live in the _present_ , and forget all about the lives they knew before meeting each other. Because their _life_ only started when they first laid eyes on one another.

She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, inhaling several long breaths to prevent being _sick_ again. She repeated to herself, not intending for him to hear her, "It's your fault."

He did, anyway. He didn't become mad, as she would have expected. Instead, he leaned against the hood of the car, waiting for her to _crucify_ him. He could handle it, for that wasn't the person who had fallen in love with him talking _;_ that was the person who she was _before._

And when she turned on her heels to face him, the fire burning in her eyes burned the path to his features; a fire he wasn't so certain was directed _at_ him. Her expressions were simultaneously filled with pain and yet, _blank._ "She couldn't have been more than six years old."

Lines formed across his forehead, he had no idea what she was talking about. Still, he maintained the calm mask on his face, "Who, Clara?"

"The girl in the shop!" Clara yelled, loudly, _unmercifully,_ wishing he would feel just as _guilty_ as she did. "Hiding behind her mummy's legs! So small, so _scared._ She's going to be traumatized for the rest of her life because of what _I_ did."

Her words lost their power amidst her sentences and were no more than whispers by the time she was done speaking. The eyes that once had been to keen on _shooting him down_ were now lost somewhere alongside the scenery. "You can't know that for sure, Clara."

She shook her head in disbelief; how could he not believe her? "Yes, I do."

"No, you don't," the _need_ to come closer to her was killing him inside. He managed to stay still, possibly due to some external force holding him back. "How could you possibly know?"

"Because _I am_ that little girl," her voice traveled between low and high peaks; she was unable to keep a steady tone. "I _was_ that little girl."

His eyes squinted in puzzlement — he had no idea what she was talking about. "Clara?"

She turned her head away, providing him the perfect view of her jawline; she wished her big mouth hadn't said anything, the terrible truth was better off hidden inside of her. Now, it was too late. "I was _terrified,_ Doctor. Of that black gun pointing directly at us. I was just a child, I was sobbing loudly and crying _mummy._ My mum… My mum was so nervous she couldn't decide whether to just give him the money or calm me down. She… She should have just given him the money."

He couldn't understand the waves of trembling that surfaced all across his body. The mere _idea_ of her pain brought suffering upon his own self. "Clara, I'm… I'm sorry."

His apologies fell on deaf ears. "There's nothing to be sorry about. You weren't there, you weren't crying so loudly that the burglar became _so angry_ he pulled the trigger and put a _hole_ in my mother's skull. He should have killed _me,_ not her. She _died_ because of _me._ "

The Doctor mumbled some profanities underneath his breath, forcing himself towards her. She didn't even see him approaching, startling when he wrapped his arms around her. He should have _asked,_ but the need to feel her _close_ was stronger than him. "She didn't deserve to die, Clara. But neither did _you._ I might have never met your mother, but I know for _a fact_ she would have _died_ if he'd shot you rather than her."

Her eyelids came in contact with the fabric of his shirt; she used it to force the tears to stay inside. "When she died, I died too. She was all I had, Doctor. All I had."

She was uncontrollable against his chest, wrapping her slim fingers around his tee, _trying_ to remain calm, when the calm had long perished the day that the only constant in her life was taken away from her. He tightened his grip around of her, "What… What about your dad?"

Like a trigger, she immediately pulled away from him — she would _break down_ if she remained under his protective wings; the only place she had ever felt at home ever since the death of her mother. Her head traveled sideways, shaking in endless loops, the memories of her _father,_ which she had so long before buried deep inside her brain, began again flourishing through her mind; memories she had once _promised_ herself she would never allow to haunt her again. The promise had been broken. She broke it when she held a gun and threatened another child with the potential loss of her mum, too.

She could feel him hovering right behind her, _preventing_ her from falling in case her legs would betray her; she was certain they soon would. The exhale that echoed through her lungs was _desperate,_ "My father… He was so sweet at first. Wiping away my incessant tears and rocking me after my screaming nightmares. He was _there_ for me, and then… he wasn't."

Clara couldn't bear to look at him in the eyes; if she pretended he wasn't there, maybe it would hurt less. Maybe it would be easier if she told her story to the wind and expected it to carry her words away. She carried on, "He had lost someone too. _His_ pain became unbearable; he started to drink, way more than he should, _especially_ when he had a _child_ to look after. It didn't matter — he _blamed_ me. I blamed me, too."

"He shouldn't. _You_ shouldn't," his voice cut through the air and all her words landed on the ground; she _damned_ him for it. "The only person there is to blame is the man who pulled the trigger. You were just an infant, what were you supposed to do? Attack him and knock the gun out of his hands, Clara?!"

"If I knew that would be enough for her to _live,_ then, yes, I would have!" she cried, arms protectively wrapping themselves around her own torso; trying to impede herself from being mauled by the wind, as well. "If I knew at the time that would be enough to stop my father from becoming _a monster,_ yes, I would."

The muscles on her back were tense, rigid; sore from all the weight they carried. "What did he do to you, Clara?"

Unexpectedly, she turned her head to him; she needed the strength she knew she could only find inside his eyes if she were to speak out loud the living _nightmare_ she had been stuck in for such a long time. "He wasn't a good man when he drank, Doctor. And it didn't help that he drank _all the time_."

Carefully, he stepped nearer her. Her eyes were so huge and hollow he could see the black holes they held inside, on the edge of swallowing him in. He repeated, "What did he do to you, Clara?"

A pitiful smile shaped the corner of her lips; still, after so many years, she couldn't condemn him for his sins, not when she had been the main reason the _beast_ inside of him struck out. "The first time it happened, I was missing my mum so _badly_ I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't understand why she wouldn't just _come home_ to me, no matter how loudly I yelled her name. I just wanted her back, Doctor. And my father had already emptied his second glass of beer, he couldn't _stand_ my uncontrollable sobbing. He walked up to me, the anger thundering inside of his veins and his _soul,_ and he hit me in the face. So hard it _burned._ Of course, the pain and shock only made me cry harder; that's when he hit me again, knocking me to the floor. I fell silent, he went back to his booze. I didn't cry again, not that night, _not ever_ again in his presence. I was just _so_ scared of him. My own father, the person who should have made me feel loved and protected, made me instead _terrified."_

Sometime during her narrative, her gaze had fallen down to the ground. Her mouth barely allowed the air to enter and escape her throat; it was almost _impossible_ to breathe. Unable to control himself and offer her space, the Doctor cupped her jawline — the same cheek the father had slapped so many years ago; it was the only way he knew how to ease the sting there. "Clara, I'm… Damn it. Damn _him_."

His gentle contact with her face reminded her why she had fallen in love with him. He was the only one capable of restoring her strength, healing her pain, bringing her voice back to her. She sank her head further down in the palm of his hand.

It was hard seeing past the misty layer over his eyes; he wanted to cry all the tears she had been forbidden to cry. "For… For how long did he hurt you?"

She bit her lower lip hard, close to drawing blood. " _Forever,_ " she wasn't being dramatic — that was how long it felt. Her teen years were the slowest of her life. "Every time I came home to find him drunk. Every time I tried to _leave home_ , to go anywhere else to escape him. He couldn't _stand_ seeing me, his own daughter. Hurting me was the only way he knew how to _grieve_."

"That's no excuse," he spoke softly, his breath anxious inside his chest, "Clara, I have to ask this. Did he… Did he ever, _ever,_ do things other than hit you? Did he… Did he ever… ra…"

He couldn't say the words; the mere idea that she could have gone through the _same nightmare_ he had sucked out all the strength he held inside. He was vulnerable underneath her own pain. Clara didn't need to hear his thoughts to understand his worries. She tilted her head sideways, the sweetest closed smile formed by her lips. "No, Doctor. Never that."

He had lost all control over himself when he crumbled down and threw himself over her. Holding her tightly, close to his heart _,_ quietly sobbing the same tears that had fallen from her eyes during her childhood. Holding her as if he held his entire universe — to his eyes, she was all the life that existed.

Clara felt her lungs being deprived of oxygen from his embrace; although she didn't have it in her to pull him away. Not when he needed to _feel her alive_ , to make sure she was _unharmed._ Not when she _finally_ found the arms that she wished would have protected her from her father after the death of her mother.

The Doctor breathed in her scent; one that he knew _so well_. She smelled like home. His tears wetted the bare skin of her neck, but neither of them seemed to care. "Those scars on your back… I never asked…"

The nod of her head was almost unnoticeable, but it was enough of a confirmation for him. His heart ached, so swollen inside of him it was hard for him to breathe. He was caught off guard when she kissed away his tears. "It's in the past. I'm _alright._ "

Even though he doubted he would _ever_ be able to let her go, the Doctor loosened his grip around her, the sweat of his forehead pressing against her temples. He asked again, _needing_ answers before his brains conjectured the worst; "For _how long_ did he hurt you, Clara?"

"Until I turned 18. Until I couldn't _stand_ it anymore and I ran away from home," she confessed through hushed words, a hint of sorrow behind her voice. She was _homesick,_ but homesick for the time she was just a child endlessly loved by both her parents. "I had been saving for years, and even though it wasn't much _,_ it was enough for me to buy a one way ticket to the city and rent a motel room for the first few weeks," a twisted laugh echoed through her lips, "I doubt he even _noticed_ my absence."

"You're his _daughter,_ of course he did," he pushed a few locks away from her face; _moist and stuck_ to her cheeks from the trail of tears there. "I'm so _relieved_ that you escaped _hell,_ Clara."

Her arms formed a full circle around his waist; her head accommodated perfectly on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was as calming as the sound of ocean waves in a hot summer's day. "I tried to get a job. I really did, for days straight. Turns out the only jobs available for little girls who ran away from their homes are at _brothels._ I could never submit myself to that, Doctor, no matter _how_ desperately I needed the money. No; I didn't escape suffering at home to suffer under the hands of _nasty men_ who needed to get on with women that weren't their wives. Prostituting myself would only be a way of surviving… not living."

He ran his manly hands through her messy hair. "That's when you started robbing."

Once more, she nodded. "I only stole, at first. Supplies at the groceries store, mostly. But one day, I couldn't pay rent anymore, and I was forced to pickpocket. And then, I realized how _good_ I was. I became bold enough to break into the rich people's houses and rob their money and valuable possessions. Until I met _you_. And my life changed forever. For the best. Doctor, you… You offered my a love I didn't know before. You showed me how _great_ it is to love and to be loved. For that, I… I can never thank you enough."

If she could only comprehend, he didn't want her gratefulness. He wanted _her,_ there, by his side; that was already more than enough.

* * *

 **A/N:** **This chapter wasn't based on the personal life of Bonnie Parker - her mother outlived her and there was no report (at least that I could find) about her being the victim of domestic violence. Still, I wanted to bring this certain aspect to the story, to show the darkness of Clara's past meets the darkness of the Doctor's pasts. I wanted to show who they were before they became _Bonnie and Clyde_ and how they came to be _Bonnie and Clyde_. Let me know what you think!**


	4. the run away

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I hope this chapter won't disappoint :)**

* * *

 _I took the rap like good people,_ _  
_ _And never one squawk did I make._

* * *

The Doctor and Clara ditched their car after a few further hours of journey. The sun had just reached its highest peak in the sky when the two of them boarded a bus, headed to a small village near the border to Scotland; it was a quick trip, yet time seemed to have frozen inside the vehicle.

It was crowded, allowing them to lose themselves amongst the other people crammed in like cattle. They almost failed to get two seats next to each other. Underneath their seats,, they secured all their baggage; a somehow fairly big bag with all the supplies they had stolen _._ When the engines at last roared under their feet, the Doctor finally allowed himself to _breathe._

His eyelids gradually became heavier; he saw himself with no other alternative than to allow them to close. His chin was slowly falling to his chest, in the most uncomfortable position — he was just _so tired,_ the idea of succumbing himself to unconsciousness comforted his body and soul.

Although Clara dreaded the idea of disturbing the rest he so obviously needed, she carefully snuggled against his torso, providing her own head as some replacement for a pillow, which he thankfully accepted. He laid his cheek across her flat scalp, having his face tickled by her hair. He soon became heavy above her, crushing her petite frame. Rather than try and break away, she wrapped her arms around his waist. No one would dare to perturb the poetry of their bodies tangled as if they were one.

However, unlike him, she couldn't bring herself to sleep, too. Her eyes were focused on the trees passing by outside the window, her fingers wrapping and unwrapping themselves around the fabric of his tee. Her heart was lazy inside her chest, giving in to the peacefulness of the sleeping man next to her, but each beat felt like a stab of fright and anxiousness of what was still to come.

She shivered at the thought she might lose him.

She quivered at the idea they would be pulled apart forever.

She sank herself nearer him, longing to feel his presence before it was too late.

* * *

Minutes turned into whole eternities until they reached their stop, the Doctor still sound asleep in a seat too small for him. A twinge came from her heart when she was forced to gently grab his shoulder and shake, gently calling his name, her nose nudging his chin to bring him back to reality.

He awoke with a start, but his heart rate soon settled at the sight of her. The only image he would like to be welcomed with every time he woke up; the hint of a smile in the far corner of her lips, the dimple dotted in her left cheek, the sparkle her eyes held inside. He woke up and he saw his entire universe standing in front of him.

"Are we there yet?" he asked the obvious, his voice hoarse from the sleep running amidst his veins, his brain dull from the haziness of slipping back into consciousness.

Clara simply hummed in acknowledgement, her pointy chin stabbing his shoulder pad, offering her the perfect view of him. She saw nothing but the most beautiful human being — and not only physically; he had taught her how see the beauty _in_ them, despite their demons and ghosts. She smiled when he grazed his nose on hers, wordlessly giving her all the encouragement to get up and the desire to never move again; just let the moment swallow them.

Having grabbed their luggage _,_ they landed on firm land once more; the bus immediately took off behind them. With their fingers intertwined, they walked towards the parking lot, where a few exquisite cars rested. The Doctor randomly picked one to become _theirs._

She still failed to find any words as she watched him play with the locks until he managed to unlock it. The crooked smile that shaped his lips afterwards was unsuccessful in bringing any sort of amusement to her face — like it usually would. His grin soon dropped, but her sorrow didn't stop him from towering over her and planting several kisses full of promises to her temples and cheeks and lips. The sight of her shivering under his devotion caused his heart to flutter.

They each climbed into their respective seats. The Doctor fetched _another_ screwdriver from their bag of stolen items, inserting it into the ignition and forcing it over until the engine roared and burst into life. Carefully, he attempted a joke, "Now you see why we must _never_ be without a screwdriver."

Clara pursed a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips, her elbow resting against the window and holding up her head. Her eyes were locked on the image of him and the scenery that passed along until it was left behind. "This is a small town. They probably will find a stolen car in a blink of eyes.

With only one hand at the wheel, he pressed his other tightly to her leg, reassuringly, "We'll only spend the night here. Both you and I need to rest, Clara, it's been an exhaustive day. Tomorrow, as soon as the first specks of light break through the sky, we'll leave and settle on the next town."

The nod that came from her head was forced, perhaps even nonexistent.

* * *

Their stomachs were full after their dinner at the only diner in town when they finally entered their small motel room and were finally allowed to _breathe._

There was a big bed in the middle of the room, its brown duvet matching the brown of the peeling walls, although there wasn't much credibility to the mattress it hid beneath. There was a single chair in the corner, but no table or desk to go with. They had no other alternative than to drop their bags down on the dirtiness of the carpet — their brains were too tired and their arms too worn to think of any other alternatives.

The Doctor sat by the chair; it was hard and callous underneath his buttocks. He rested his back against the spindle, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his legs tangled around one another. His eyes were hazel; they no longer possessed the abundant life of a bright blue sky.

"Take off your clothes."

His voice cut through barriers of tension that had consumed the entire environment; his tone was hoarse and demanding, yet kind and begged. He didn't find the strength within himself to cross eyes with her when she at last dared to look on his way, instead fixed in some random spot right past her shoulders.

Clara had her head tall as she sat on the mattress — it completely sank underneath her. Her lips were slightly open as she kicked off her shoes, before pulling all the great amount of locks of her hair to the right side of her neck, revealing the nascent of her collar bones; so sharp, so alluring.

"Please."

She wasn't playing hard to get, but _threading carefully_ towards an unknown territory. She got back up, creating an anxious path towards him; his pupils were dilated, his eyes, however, had yet to move. She slipped her hands under her tee and pulled it above her head, her breasts still covered by the black fabric of her bra. Then, she slowly hauled down her trousers, showing him the underwear made of the same material. She wrapped each of her hands around the lace at her hips and leaned closer, tempting him. "Tell me what you want."

His breathing was harsh, as he finally found enough strength to look at her. She was so close, but never once daring to initiate physical contact. He focused on her swollen red lips, wet and glowing from her own saliva, her tongue pressing against the inner arcade of her teeth.

His index finger was lured into touching them; tracing lines above their flesh — an invisible lipstick only he could see. He brushed his thumb above the irregular relief they were composed of. He pulled the skin of the corner of her mouth in some small attempt to bring a smile from her — either truthful or forced; a smile, nonetheless.

"On your knees."

His words carried every indicator of an order; his intonation held every marker of a request. His eyes ached when she disappeared from his vision range; he still loved the sight of her the most. His muscles became extremely rigid at the sound of his belt clanging and the unzipping of his trousers.

His briefs were barely removed, just enough to release his aching member. Her thin and delicate fingers wrapped around his shaft, sending him to heaven — or, perhaps, _hell._ She slowly waggled his penis, in a steady rhythm, receiving nearly inaudible moans from his throat, indicating she was doing it _right._

Clara brought the tip to her lips, planting soft kisses just before giving his glan a prolonged lick; she knew it to be where most of his nerves lay, and the bucking of his hips was enough testimony of his pleasure. She left a trail of her saliva alongside the foreskin and took him in her mouth, gently sliding down his shaft as much as she could.

His right hand unconsciously traveled to the back of her head, burying his fingers in her hair, although he daren't force himself deeper inside of her. Her mouth was sacredly taut, offering a mesmerizing blend of pressure and friction as she glided down his penis.

Her head picked up a bounce up and down, her tongue flattened and allowing him wide and wet strokes. Her hand joined a coordinated tempo with the movements of her neck, taking care of the base of his shaft. The tip of her tongue invaded into the foreskin and circled around around his head, massaging it. He inevitably thrusted further down her mouth.

" _Clara_."

As desperate as he was, the Doctor still wrapped a handful of locks of her hair and pushed her head back. His eyes were hollow when he used his wrists to raise her in the air, by the armpits, and threw her on the mattress on her back. His eyes were _hungry_ when he simply pushed her panties out of the way and penetrated her hole at full length.

Her vagina was so wet there was no resilience. He collapsed his body above hers, arms guaranteeing him whatever balance by clinching hard onto the sheets until his knuckles turned white. He panted breathlessly on the curve between her head and shoulder, bringing static to the hair on the back of her head.

They weren't making love. They were having _grieving sex._

Mercilessly and frenzied, he thrusted in and out of her quickly, her inner walls so tight they were choking him. Her hands locking themselves around his nape so strongly they were suffocating him. Her legs were opened wide, allowing him full access and bringing them closer and closer to their climaxes.

Clara came first; her lungs shrieked and cried from the pleasure running through her nerves, completely out of breath, completely out of strength, her entire body covered in sweat and in a sensitivity that begged all forms of physical contact to break away from her skin. She assumed she was being driven insane, she concluded she was seeing stars when he kept going for several seconds still, not daring to stop until his orgasm built around him and he came inside of her.

Whole eternities passed before he managed to retrieve himself — and she instantaneously missed the sensation of being _complete,_ the feeling of being _one_ with him. She closed her eyes, waiting for nothing and everything to happen, expecting the universe to bless them with fake promises of safety and comfort.

She was surprised when her lifeless physique was moved up the bed, until her head rested on a pillow too hard to be enjoyable, and her naked frame was enveloped with a blanket too thin to protect her from the chill of the night. When her eyelids revealed the hollow blackness of her eyes once more, she found him already feeding himself with the image of her.

She smiled; it wasn't big, it wasn't _gratifying,_ it was, however, the most truthful smile she had to offer. Drunk with the sight of her, the Doctor placed several kisses of love and devotion and gratitude for having her _there_ across her shiny faces.

He took her in his arms — the only place she truly belonged.

* * *

"Clara, I'm lost," he said, though he knew she was sleeping.

He was empty and aching and he didn't know why; not when his entire life and universe was lying next to him.

That night, he couldn't fall asleep, too busy protecting the false serenity that covered her face.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know your thoughts and opinions!**


	5. earthly bliss

_You've heard of a woman's glory_  
 _Being spent on a 'downright cur'_  
 _Still you can't always judge the story_ _  
_As true, being told by her.

* * *

Weeks passed by. The leaves that were green turned to brown; withering in the wind, crumbling in Clara's hands as she brought them up from the ground covered in them, blowing its tiny shreds into the breeze, watching them fade away into the horizon.

After the authorities invaded their home and sent them in the run, they had settled in a large town; just big enough to have their faces lost amongst the crowd. They had rented a room and built a hideout there, filling it with enough particularities to consider it _homely,_ but still not enough to consummate any attachments with the place.

Their lives had become extraordinarily dull, living off from the pockets Clara would pick — she had really light hands — and the small facilities the Doctor would rob while no one was looking; they both dreaded the idea of having any sort of attention drawn to them. Especially when they already had their faces printed into every national paper, especially when they already couldn't go out in the street together for fear someone would _recognize_ the powerful duo.

Everyday, Clara would walk up to the outskirts of the town, despite the Doctor's constant worry and incessant argument she _shouldn't;_ she needed the loneliness to organize her thoughts until she was calm enough to breathe. She would climb up the green hill and sit underneath a big crowned tree, resting her back against its trunk and experiencing the magnificence of nature as the sun set just above the city.

That day, however, she had shyly asked him to meet her there. She wore a flowered patterned dress down to her knees, not at all suitable for the first week of autumn; her feet were dirty from the dirt they were in contact with; her fingers plunked out the grass underneath her. She was one with nature.

The sun had already begun its daily falling cascade, painting the skies with the most exquisite palette, when the Doctor finally emerged into the scenery and became part of the environment. Unlike her, he had the widest smile stamped upon his lips at the simple image of her; to his mind, every little thing that aimed to bring them down faded from existence at the sight of her,

Clara Oswald was the only thing that mattered in his life.

Clara at last relaxed when he sat by her side, shoulder brushing shoulder; all her senses would abandon their defenses when _next to him._

Her purest and deepest love for him drowned out all her fears and insecurity.

The Doctor showed her the wooden basket he had brought; silently, unwilling to break the silence until she invited him into her dazzling world. He pulled out a blanket and laid it above the grass right in front of them, carefully displaying the food across it so it would be aesthetically _pleasing_ for her eyes to look at.

Clara was delighted with his effort, even more so when he rested a white lily in her hair, right above her ear. Her hand involuntarily hid her giggling lips away — she was too afraid to allow herself to be happy.

He didn't comment on her reactions, instead intertwining her fingers with his. He played with their hands in the air, catching invisible butterflies and releasing them to freedom once more.

She pulled their linked limbs to her, wrapping herself around his arm and his head fell above her shoulder, fitting perfectly the curve of her neck. His extravagant hair tickled her jawline, still she dove her chin amidst his silver sea of curls. "Thank you for coming, Doctor."

He nodded, so slightly she could only tell it given their proximity. Although he would much rather gaze at her, his eyes were focused on the falling sun. "Now I see why you insist on coming here everyday. It's lovely, Clara. Almost as lovely as you."

Her lips blew a puff of air, shifting his hair in the process. He stretched the arm that wasn't clung to her and grabbed a cluster of grapes, pulling the small fruit with his teeth without much endeavor. Clara leaned her mouth nearer him and did the same, snatching her lips around it. Its taste sweetened her life.

The sun was dancing its coda when she abruptly broke free from his touch and raised herself on her tiptoes. She followed to the edge of the cliff, one step from catching the sun between her widely spread arms. She closed her eyes and let her spirit start to soar.

The Doctor went after her, however remained a few feet behind, giving her the space she needed. His face remained still when she spun around herself, several times, trying to fly along the wind. Trying to break free from the prison of her own body.

The sky had turned into darker shades of purple when she finally settled on her feet, her back to the horizon and her face to him. Her wings slowly faded from existence and her hands landed on her belly.

"I'm pregnant."

Her strong whispered words reverberated in the wind, circling around them and narrowing the oxygen they required for existence. Her eyes were shiny, glowing with the droplets fallen from the stars beginning to pattern the nightly sky. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, trying to keep all her emotions inside.

The Doctor was weak to his knees. His brain was hazy and his emotions clouded his better judgment. He had no control over the tears surfacing his eyes, reflecting bits of his soul, full of adoration and redemption.

For her. For _them._

"Clara."

She ran the back of her hand against the corner of her eyes, although the other remained perfectly still by the womb full of life. "I know. I know this changes everything. Doctor, I'm… I'm sorry—"

He immediately placed his index finger above her half opened, swollen lips, preventing her from verbalizing the words haunting her. He dropped to his knees until he was eye level with her bellybutton, his hands grazing the fabric hiding her skin. "Clara… We're so _blessed,_ Clara."

Her eyes and brows came together, and she tilted her head. Though her chin was pressed to her clavicle to look at him, she was having trouble to find him in the focus of her vision. "You're… You're not mad?"

" _Mad?!_ " he became crazed with her apprehension. He glared up at her, regardless of her refusal to give him the pleasure of her own eyes. "Why would I be mad, Clara?"

"Because," her failure to phrase her argument disturbed him. "Look at us! Look at where we are, look at _who_ we are. How could we bring a child to this world filled with evil and ugliness?"

"Because, _Clara,_ this child is our second chance. Despite all our flaws and wrongs, the universe is giving us another chance to make it right. To paint this world with goodness and beauty once more," he inferred, his voice on the edge of breaking down due to tears he wasn't ashamed of.

He pressed his lips all over her stomach, covering her belly with all sorts of kisses destined to a child he had yet to meet. He continued, "Don't you see it, Clara? Don't you _feel_ it? The weight of the world's a little lighter and the stars lean in a little closer, all because of this. Because of _us._ "

Like the maleableness of a feather, Clara's body descended to the ground and she found herself under the mercy of his universe eyes on her, under the strength of the protection of her and her child of his hands on her. The frightened misty layer above her pupils had been replaced by happy tears tracing single lines down her cheeks. "Doctor."

He pulled her — _them_ — inside his embrace, his tears mingling with her own. He held her tightly, his arms working as an impenetrable fence that would protect them from any threat, from any harm, for all eternity and for the rest of their lives. "I'm _so_ in love with you, Clara. And I'm so in love with our child."

Her heart was warm from his affection, from his genuine tears and earnest devotion; how could she have been _so foolish_ to believe he would be cross with her, with their carelessness. "I love you, Doctor."

The Doctor slipped his hands underneath her dress and his fingertips were touching the skin of her womb; he wanted to be as closed to _them_ as he could be. His mouth brushed up and down alongside her cheek, "How long have you known?"

His questions sent electrical shocks down her spine; she shivered inside his embrace. "A-a while now."

His hot breath escaped the gap between his lips, bringing her a warmth that the surging blackness of the night failed to provide. He held her by the hips, his hands so big and her womb still so small he could almost close them around her waist. "Why didn't you tell me, Clara?"

She closed her eyes and her eyelashes grazed his skin. "I was so scared, Doctor. I _am_ so scared for this child. _Our_ child. I haven't even met them yet but I already love them so much, and I would _die_ if anything should happen to it."

He crashed his lips onto hers, forbidding her of saying anything else. "It won't. I promise you, Clara, nothing will happen to you or to our child."

Even though her brain couldn't believe his broken promises, her heart did. In that moment, nothing rather than her heart mattered, beating in the same rhythm as the one belonging to her unborn child. She collided her tongue inside his mouth, caressing the sweet taste of grapes and love it compassed.

The Doctor laid her on her back to the grass, where her arms freely fell near her head. He was on top of her, the image of him losing itself amidst the starry night; he was one only with the universe swallowing their small and insignificant lives.

"Make love to me," he asked through whispered words; words not even the dead of night was entitled to.

"What, right here?" her eyes became unusually huge — shining both in lust and surprise. "What if somebody walks up on us?"

He merely chuckled, bringing kisses from the stars to her pale faces. "This is sacred soil, Clara. The heavens were brought down to us, right here, planting seeds of bliss inside of our hearts. This place is our shrine and we are its sacrament."

Her eyes were alluring to him when he leaned closer to steal a kiss from her lips; they were soft and parted for him _._ Kissing her gently and tenderly, he tasted the cosmic flavor of her soul. He put his hands on the sides of her face, sweeping across her applecheeks with his thumb and drowning in every little sensation her simple presence brought to him.

He slid the tip of his tongue inside her mouth, exploring the territory he already knew _so well_ but that never ceased to amaze him. He nipped her lower lip, robbing her of her breath as he brushed against the sharpness of her teeth, against the palate, against her own raspy tongue.

His kisses eventually descended to her neck, leaving marks and bites and saliva traces across his trail. Clara daren't to move, already too entranced with the life happening inside of her; with the life happening above her. Soothed by the presence of the two beings she loved the most. Her thighs unconsciously and involuntarily departed away from each other, allowing him to fall and rest perfectly between her legs.

The Doctor pulled down the single straps of her dress, just at the right height to free her breasts from the fabric hiding them. Her nipples were hard, although he couldn't tell whether from the chilly air they had just encountered or from the physical chain of reactions her body was undergoing.

He cupped her bountiful boobs with the palm of his hands, witnessing with delight as she bent back her neck after his touch. He circled the halos of her tits with his thumbs, casually traveling the fingertips over the heavenly hills in the middle of them. Her waist bucked underneath him.

His tongue traced wet lines across her breast before swallowing in one of her nipples; sucking and nipping it gently. Her nerves tried to break free from her skin, her mind screamed the joy she felt, and her body twitched and jumped with every sensation he offered her. Clara tangled her fingers amidst his hair, delicately pulling on its locks; simultaneously trying to pull him away and bring him closer than before.

While his teeth still nibbled around her bosom, he glided his hands under the skirt of her dress and pulled down her underwear, throwing them out of the way. His fingers dove into the wetness of the first few inches of her vagina, moving in and out in a slow pace; studying her most intimate part.

Before she could properly notice it, his head stood between her legs, offering kisses from her inner thighs down to her pelvis. Stimulating her most sensitive areas, he gave a slow prolonged lick to her entrance, cleaning her labium from her own libido.

He moved his flat and soft tongue up and down, side to side. He explored from the bottom of her labia to the sensitive tip of her clitoris. Clara pushed her hips forwards, an incentive for him to apply the pressure of his hard tongue tip to her clit. He pressed one of his hands under her butt to slightly raise her in the air and allow himself further access.

Her moans and groans gradually turned louder and more erratic; she was going insane under the mercy of him. He lingered and stroke two of his fingers around her opening, heightening the acuteness of the massive amount of nerves there. They were drenched in her natural lubrication when they thrusted inside her walls, tight and pulsing, curling in and out until they found her G spot.

Her breathing was heavy and she dug her nails into his scalp, forcing to work deeper and harder on them. He rhythmically massaged the area of her clit, speeding up his tempo, stimulating the blood flow to the fullness of sensation and then slowing down again, in an endless loop.

Clara orgasmed like a tidal wave, shaking and trembling and being held down by his hands. She quivered when he offered once last lick to her swollen reddened clitoris, the remainders of her girly cum following down the lines of her vulva and moisturizing the ground beneath her. She was incapable of any movement; she didn't even notice her hands were resting right on top of her womb, unconsciously protecting the life the barriers of her skin shielded.

Without much a fuss, the Doctor pulled off his coat, resting it above her body, regardless of the sudden wave of hotness it had just experienced. He lied down by her side, counting stars and constellations inside her wide black eyes.

He wasn't a mind reader but he was certain they shared the same thoughts and desires; they wanted nothing more than to lay there forever and simply forget about the world.

Still, he was prone to ask, drunkenly in love with her frame next to his, "Do you want to go home?"

"I don't think my legs will regain the ability of _walking_ anytime soon," she teased, retrieving chuckles from both their lips.

Bathing on the magic of the cosmic life above them, Clara reposed her head just in the middle of his chest, listening to the music of his heartbeats. The Doctor wrapped one arm behind her shoulders and the other just around her waist; guarding both the lives he cherished the most.

She smiled. "I am home."

* * *

 **A/N: let me know your thoughts and opinions since they keep me going :)**


	6. safe and sound

_The road was so dimly lighted;_ _  
_ _There were no highway signs to guide;_ _  
_ _But they made up their minds_ _  
_ _If all roads were blind,_ _  
_ _They wouldn't give up till they died._

* * *

The first morning after the knowledge of _their_ pregnancy, the Doctor left their hideout when the first ray of sunshine broke through the shades that couldn't be fully closed. He gave a kiss to her apple cheek and another to her belly, so delicately she didn't even shift in her sleep. She looked so _gorgeous_ in her state of peace he wanted nothing more than to simply watch her sleep; still, he forced himself out before he grew too high from his love for her.

He walked around the town until he stumbled into a department store. He took his time, threading amidst a great amount of aisles until he found what he was looking for; he hadn't known what he was looking for, but was certain he would know it once he set his eyes to it. He bought—stole—bought with stolen money—something for his companion and something for his unborn child.

Afterwards, he stopped by the grocery store and got everything _healthy_ for his pregnant woman. Both of them had the worst eating habits; and that had to change. He knew Clara would agree with him. He shot the clerk a pure and genuine smile — there was _nothing,_ no man and no fear, that could get in the way of his felicity. He was going to be a _father,_ and he desired to scream those words from the top of his lungs.

If only they didn't have a secret life. If only they had _freedom._

His hands and arms were full of bags as he journeyed his way home. Always keeping his gaze to the ground, in vain hopes of staying incognito. Everyday, he would leave their room and fear he would never come back home to _her._ Now, more than ever, he couldn't risk being caught by authorities, not when he had two human beings to look after and protect.

They relied on him just as much as he relied on them.

He entered their refuge with light steps; Clara was still in bed, her body spread across the cranky mattress. He couldn't tell whether she was awake or not. He placed all the items on the table, expecting the small noise to retrieve some sort of movement from her — she remained perfectly still.

The Doctor circled around the bed only to find her big black hole eyes wide open, waiting to have him enter their vision field. He leaned on his knees above the malleable surface, brushing hair locks away from her face and pursuing a smile from her lips. She was lying on her stomach, one leg perfectly aligned with her spine, the other bringing her knee close to her belly, forming a forty-five degrees angle with her thigh. Her right cheek rested above the arms that rested above the pillow.

"That position isn't good for the baby."

"Shut up," a chuckle made through her lips at the same time she pulled the cushions from underneath her head and threw it at him; he caught it in the air before he was knocked down _._ "I'd very much like to enjoy the possibility of lying _however_ I want before there's a huge bump impeding me from the pleasures of spreading my body across the mattress."

"And I can't wait to have you endlessly grunting about your inability to sleep at night given this _huge bump_ of yours," he teased, wrapping his hands around each of her wrists to get her up; her body was so relaxed and pliable it barely shifted.

She was now lying on her back, amused by his failure to get her on her feet. "Oh, you laugh now. I can only assure you in a few months the _both_ of us will endure some serious lack of sleep that we'll most likely drive us into _murdering_ one another given a baby that just refuses to rest at night."

The Doctor laid his flat chest above her petite frame, although not weighing on her due the fear of crushing both her and his child. "She's going to be a daddy's little girl, Clara. The moment she lies in my arms, after you're driven _insane_ from her incessant crying all through the night, and you simply give her to me, she'll smoothly doze off."

Her right brow was arched higher than the other; she hadn't listen to half of his rumbling. " _She_?"

"Oh, yes," he assured, slipping his hands under her armpits and clumsily pulling back with one movement, until she was sitting on his lap. "It's _definitely_ a girl. With huge ocean eyes and curly brown hair, with a single dimple in her cheek and eyebrows that have got a life of their own. She's going to love like nobody else, because her mummy and her daddy love her so much. She's going to be so curious, always exploring everything and joining an adventure that only she knows. She's going to love the stars the most, because she _knows_ she's always safe underneath them. The stars are going to be her friends ever since her first day. In fact, they already are."

Clara not only smiled at his words, but at his hands lovingly and protectively resting above her womb. "And if it's a boy…?"

"It's not," his eyes were hard and serious, though still carrying a sparkle barely visible there.

Clara frowned, her lips in a pout, "Are you saying you're going to love our child less if it's a boy?!"

He jerked with his shoulders. "Of course not. But I only say that because our baby is obviously a girl."

She slightly hit the palm of her hand across his upper arm, giggling loudly. "You're the worst."

He ignored her accusation bluntly. "Come on now. I've got us breakfast. _Healthy_ breakfast, I'm not letting my child grow malnourished," he argued, simultaneously patting her thighs so she'd hop off him. With a lot of reluctance, she did.

She wrinkled her nose while sticking it inside the bags. The Doctor jumped on his feet and offered her wrists soft smacks to get her to stop snooping — idealistically before she saw the gifts he had yet to surprise her with.

He pulled item by item out, shooting her glares until she gave up and sat by the table. He brought her a plate, and placed there a slice of bread, next to a red apple. He offered her a cup of raw milk, to her dislike, since she was pregnant and couldn't drink the caffeine in her usual cup of morning tea. She only managed to drink it for being distracted by his hands on her neck, rubbing the tension off her shoulders.

It was nearly _impossible_ to eat when his thumbs were rubbing along the edges of her vertebrae and his lips pressed to the back of her neck and made the nerves of her spine tingle; she concentrated as best she could on her meal, for _their_ sake. He didn't stop until she was done.

"I've got you something," he whispered dryly in her ear — she shivered immediately. The Doctor spun her in her seat until they were face to face, finding a smile that masked the beauty of the stars.

"You've got me something?!" her eyes sparkled; she couldn't hide her amusement, but was still compelled to say, "Doctor, you know we shouldn't waste money on frivolous little things, _especially_ with the baby coming."

"Aha, but these aren't _frivolous,_ " he reprehended, pulling the bag to him. "Besides, I got something for the baby too.

"You did?" her enthusiasm was growing by the second; she could leave her repression for later. She watched him curiously.

He revealed her gift first — a silver bracelet, hanging two flat pendants. One of them was carved with the Doctor and Clara's names, with his handwriting. The other was blank. Smiling, he locked it around her wrist, "We'll carve our child's name and her birthdate once she comes to this world."

Her eyes were fixed on its delicateness; it was light and discreet, she would never take it off. She blamed her pregnancy entirely for the misty layer disrupting her vision. "Doctor, I…"

He didn't allow her the chance to speak. "This is for the baby," he lodged a blue stuffed animal between her hands, "It's quite small, I know, but I assume the child will inherit your _smallness._ Don't worry, I won't hold it against you for that. Can't fight genetics, right?!" he was rambling — she found him adorable. "Dolphins mean _salvation_ , it symbolizes the power of healing _._ This child, Clara is our salvation, and this little dolphin will guide and offer divine protection to you and the life inside of you."

The tears in his eyes were genuine; all that was happening was an emotional rollercoaster and he held no control over his own feels. Clara was the most vulnerable next to him. "I love these. I love our baby. I love _you._ This child isn't even born yet and she is already the most beloved child ever."

He pressed his forehead to hers, wrapping his thick hands around hers, both protecting the toy within — protecting the child it represented. " _She_?"

A careless chuckle echoed through her lips. "Well, perhaps I want a girl _too_."

Clara lay on her stomach, naked, with white sheets covering some of her body. Her eyes were closed, however she was wide awake, simply enjoying the simplistic of the moment. The smell of sex fresh in the air, the calm breathing of his equally naked figure next to him.

Unlike her, he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Not only that he'd never lower his defenses for fear of any predators nearby, his duty of care for her and their child weighing on his mind, but because the image of her made his heart flutter. He fell in love with her all over again, every day.

Ever since the first time he saw her, he _knew_ she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And yet, she looked even more gorgeous now with her natural pregnancy glow. He could spend the rest of his life simply staring at her, and his life would still be complete.

Their bodies were close; they fed their souls on their proximity. He wrapped locks of her hair around two of his fingers only to unwrap them right after in an endless loop. The hint of a smile stamped across her lips was enough evidence of how content she was simply to coexist.

"Clara," he spoke her name poetically and melodically. They had done nothing but to lie in bed all day, the stuffed dolphin facing the wall so it wouldn't witness the intercourse its eyes were too innocent to see.

She hummed, flickering her lids open for no more than a few milliseconds. His hand rested on the base of her skull and remained there.

The Doctor kissed her temples, preparing both of them for the words it took all his strength to say. "I want to get a job, Clara."

Her happiness immediately dropped; she pulled herself away from his touch until she was leaning on her elbows, her breasts freely swaying in the air. "Doctor—"

He sighed loudly, rubbing his fingers against his tired eyes. "Before you say anything, just look at us, Clara. Look at this _hole_ we're living in. How can we raise a child here—how can I _forgive_ myself for allowing ourselves to raise a child under these circumstances?"

"These _circumstances_ are what we're entitled to, Doctor. For everything that we've done. Our misfortune is no one's fault but our own," she argued, finding it hard to look him in the eyes, finding it impossible to breathe. "We're responsible for our own downfalls."

He moved to a sitting position, pulling all the covers along. "We write our own epilogue, Clara. And we write our own child's prologue. Everything that happens is up to us. It's our burden the life we choose for this baby, and I'll be _damned_ to let her grow with anything less than what she _deserves._ "

Focusing on her breathing, Clara mimicked his movements. She grabbed a pillow, laid it across her legs and hugged it, hiding her boobs behind it and resting her chin atop it. "Everything she _needs_ is right here. Our unconditional love for her. She dwells in our absolute adoration and devotion for her. That's everything anyone needs for a good life."

He shook his head, despite knowing she was _right._ His muscles were rigid when she fell against the thickness of his arm. "I promise I'll be careful. I _promise_ , Clara. I need to provide us with the most we can. Small robberies can't afford us forever. _Please,_ I'm asking you at least to consider it."

She inhaled his scent deeply. "You really want to do this, don't you."

He nodded. "I just want you and our child to live the best lives I can offer. I want to buy our places to the Mayflower so we can _start over._ "

Unconsciously, her fingers started playing with the pendant in her fist, circling it around her wrist, feeling the carving of their names against the hard metal on her fingertips. "You know I can't deny your happiness, Doctor."

He was so still the only indicator of life from him was his chest rising and falling. " _You_ are my happiness. My only wish is to expand _your_ happiness."

"Okay," her mumble was almost inaudible; he heard her anyway. "Just remember, Doctor, if anything should _happen,_ you're the one who's not coming home. To us. We're the ones you're leaving _behind_."

If she had had any intentions of making him feel bad and guilty, she succeeded. Regardless, he _couldn't_ back down. "Do you trust me, Clara?"

"Of course I do. Why would you even think I don't."

"Then, you can trust me when I say _nothing_ bad will happen," he placed his hand on her thigh. "You can have my word on that. How many years have we lived together and _safe_? I can promise our sanctuary here will prevail."

She had no reasons at all to believe him.

Yet, she did.

* * *

 **A/N: Tell me what are your thoughts and opinions of this chapter!**


	7. happily ever after?

_For the men who live like you and me_  
 _Are playing a losing game_  
 _And the way we shoot, or the way we ride_ _  
Is all about the same_

* * *

The store owner looked at the grey haired man before him up and down several times, squinting his eyes and tracing lines across his forehead. "I'm sorry, have I seen you before? I feel like I know you from somewhere."

The Doctor's expression was simultaneously blank and baffled. His chosen attire was simple and ordinary, perhaps even a little worn — he desired nothing further than to look like any other working man. He had a big brown hat hiding the mess of his uncombed silver curls; anything to stay incognito. "I don't think so, no."

Still, the man wasn't convinced. "Yeah! Yeah, I remember where I know you from! Aye, I saw you in the papers!"

His airway grew constricted; regardless, he sustained his external calm and composure. "I don't think so, no."

"Yeah yeah, you're that guy!" his northern accent was stiff, "That guy who won the lottery!"

"If I had won the lottery, I wouldn't be here begging for a _job,_ would I," the Doctor cracked a smile full of amusement, "I guess I just one have one of _those_ faces."

His lips frowned, but Mr Clark reluctantly agreed. "Guess so. I can give you a job, sure. It doesn't pay much, but it's still a job. Can you start today, mate?"

He nodded, both in gratitude and confirmation.

* * *

The abode smelled of homemade cooking by the time the Doctor arrived home, the sun long disappeared from the sky.

He unlocked the door and the soft luminescence from candles welcomed him in.

"You _cook_ now?" his gasp of surprise echoed within the narrow four walls of the place, even though it was _definitely_ not the kind of reception she had been expecting. Nevertheless, she was thrilled to see him, shocked or not.

She leaned back against the oven, nearly burning herself with the still cooking meal. "Well, hello to you, too."

He tried to hold back a laugh at the sight of her clumsy self, although it escaped his lips when she let out a cussword after the inconvenient encounter with the hot pan. Her outfit of choice went against all cooking standards — she wore one big shirt of his that suited her as a dress and white socks; he doubted she even had underwear under it. She displayed her hair in a messy bun and had sauce all over her—his—tee.

He approached her carefully. "Should I even _dare_ to ask what you're up to?!"

Not giving him all of her attention span, Clara stuck her nose amidst the flames, and the hint of _burnt_ food caused her to assume it was done _._ "The baby was hungry."

"And you decided to take your chances on _cooking,_ something I had never _ever_ seen you do for all the time we've been together," he concluded, hiding his imminent fear of her cooking skills by bringing out two plates to the table.

She hummed in acknowledgement. "You know, I thought it couldn't be _that_ hard. It's just some pasta."

He was forced out of her way when she quickly ran with the hot pan from the oven to the table, carelessly throwing it onto the wood. She blew at the redness of her hands in attempts to relieve the burns on them. The Doctor added casually, "It's just _pasta,_ yes. There's absolutely no risks of either of us dying from food poisoning after eating it."

She aimed a dish cloth at him to shut him up, hitting him in the neck. "I should just remind you that I'm a pregnant lady with _lots_ of stray hormones flowing through her body, with access to a _knife,_ and that sleeps next to you every night."

Although her face was written in amusement, he took her threat very seriously. "Point taken," he mumbled, pulling a chair and sitting down. She did the same. "Shall we, then?"

They served themselves quietly and stared at their dinner, both extremely hesitant to dig in. Clara's stomach howled loudly and she swallowed hard. She wrapped the spaghetti around her fork, and he mimicked each of her actions; they brought the pasta to their mouths simultaneously.

At the immediate contact with the food, they began a silent contest over who would be able to keep their face straight the longest. The Doctor admitted defeat only a few seconds later, getting a napkin and spitting out the bite of food. "This is _disgusting,_ Clara. You definitely don't need a knife to _kill_ me."

Unlike him, she ingested it all, but immediately dropped the silverware. "I don't understand…! All I had to do was to boil the water…! It was supposed to be good…!"

Despite his clear amusement over her failure, she was genuinely distressed. Her eyes were huge and incapable of meeting his. He quickly pulled away her plate, so she wouldn't suffer for the sight of her unsuccessful meal. "Don't worry about it, Clara. It's your first time, it's okay—"

She wiped her eyes before the tears managed to escape her ducts. " _No!_ It's not okay, Doctor. Look at me! I'm a failure, and I'm _hungry._ I'm hungry and my child is hungry because of _me._ What kind of mother will I be? If I can't even make my child something as basic as pasta? My child will starve to death because I'm a bad mother."

He didn't doubt for a second those were her _hormones_ talking, but he still felt it was his duty to make her feel better. He dropped to his knees in front of her, cleansing away the dramatic tears stubborn enough to descend her cheeks. "Your child— _our child_ —won't hate you, alright? Clara, how can you believe you're going to be a bad mother when you already worry for this child so much? Our baby dwells in your love, because you share a heartbeat, and she feels everything that you feel," he pressed his big hands to her womb; she was just starting to show. "Come on, now. Let's find you some proper food to eat, before I end up being feasted upon."

She cracked a laugh amidst her sobs, although she was keen on hiding her face between the palms of her hands. Without waiting for a request or permission, the Doctor slipped one of his arms under her knees, the other securing around her waist. He brought her from the table to their bed.

Clara locked her arms around his neck, holding him close; they weren't driven on lust, only their affection for one another.

The Doctor filled her with tender kisses, knowing he'd still have several chances in the future to mock her for her _extra weight._ In that moment, she was light, floating like a feather in the atmosphere.

"Our baby," he started, between sloppy pecks, "Is the luckiest for having you as a mother."

Her tears soon faded away to give place to her incessant giggling, _especially_ when her stomach growled once more. He eventually let go of her by laying her small frame in bed, with promises he would make them the most delicious sandwiches.

His promises disappeared into the coldness of the night by the sudden blatant sound of knocks on the door.

They froze — their heartbeats were the loudest sound in the room, so blatant they had no doubts whoever stood on the outside could hear them. His first and natural instinct was to pull her even closer than before.

They had been haunted before. They had been scared before. However the third life in the room made it all much more terrifying.

 _"Mr Smith? Police, open up."_

Clara wrapped her delicate fingers around his shirt, in a failed attempt to have them stop shaking. "Doctor? How—how do they know where we live?"

The room was so quiet her voice in the air was a burden. The Doctor rushed to the only window and peeked his head through the curtains, an odd wave of relief running down his body at the sight of only one officer. He glided his hands under the mattress, pulling two guns out of there.

Regardless of her protest, he succeeded in placing one of them in her hands, lodging her index on the trigger. The knocks came again and closer together. "Clara, listen to me. They're _here,_ and they're ready to take us down. This gun is loaded, and it will keep you safe, alright?!"

That time, her tears weren't due to her hormones. "Doctor—"

He gave her one last kiss. "It's okay. It'll all be okay, because you're pregnant, and you'll always have our child to remember me by. Shh, don't cry, please don't cry. I'm just going to hold him back while you run. Clara, you'll run like you've never run before, until you're somewhere _safe_ where you can ask for help. Promise me, Clara, promise that you won't stop running and you won't look back."

She was drowning in her own crying; she was suffocating in her own breathing. "I _can't_ leave you behind."

The pounding against the door grew even heavier, followed by warnings of breaking it down. The Doctor forced her up on her feet. "Yes, you _can._ This isn't about you and I anymore. This is about the _life_ we're growing. That life will _always_ come first. Now, this is how we're going to play. I'm going to open that door, engage in some dull conversation and distract him enough for your escape. We might get into a violent fight, yes, and he'll be even less able to go after you. Okay? Be prepared to run."

She hit her closed fists against his chest, the gun hard against his skin. "You _can't_ go back to prison, Doctor. You told me so yourself."

He closed his hands around hers. " _I_ don't matter, Clara. Only you do. You and I our little baby. I am _begging_ you, Clara, for once in life, do as you're told."

It was uncertain whether her head was nodding or shaking; he chose to believe in the former. He directed at the far corner of the room, at a spot she wouldn't be so easily seen, given the lack of light. He took a long breath and turned the knob over. His eyes immediately focused at the gun lodged at the officer's waist, his own hidden behind the back. "How can I help you?"

The policeman tried to break in, however he was bodyblocked by the Doctor. "Can I come in, Mr Smith?"

" _No,_ you cannot. If you have something to say, you can say right there."

The stranger man placed his hand above the gun holster. "Sir, I'm giving you a choice here. You either let me in or I'm going in without your permission."

Sighing loudly, the Doctor reluctantly took three steps back. Although he caught a glance of his companion, it was too quick for the law officer to notice it. He walked right past him, too busy analysing the home of the _two_ bank robbers _._

The Doctor didn't waste a second; he took advantage of the officer's diverted attention and struck his weapon to the back of the man's head, fueled by all of his anger and fear. The officer stumbled forward, dizzy, although the blow wasn't quite enough to knock him unconscious.

Regardless of his inability to focus, the agent threw his arm in the air, hoping he would manage to hit the other man by sheer luck. His attack was in vain, instead causing him to further lose his balance, allowing the Doctor the opportunity to hit him once more.

Clara _knew_ that was the opportunity for her to run; however she was frozen within her own body. The gun uncontrollably trembled alongside her arm — her shaking finger risked unwillingly pulling the trigger. She couldn't move, her only instinct was trying to create a shield with her free hand above her belly.

The scene in front of her was becoming messier and bloodier; there were kicks and punches thrown everywhere, from both sides. Even though the Doctor had gotten the head start, he appeared to be losing the confrontation. She was _desperate_ , disobedient to the only request he had made her. She found out that her life didn't matter without him by her side; not even the growing child inside of her got her legs to run away.

She locked both her palms around the pistol grip and tried to aim on the _bad man,_ but they were moving too fast for her to succeed — especially when she couldn't get herself to stop quivering.

She had no idea if the shivering or her unconscious had been at fault. A loud bang echoed in the small room, and she saw her own life escaping her body when her finger pressed the trigger firmly, and the two men fell to the floor, a stain of blood tainting the permanently stained carpet.

Clara Oswald was either blessed with her salvation, or doomed to her destruction. For the longest eternity, she did not know which. And then, she realized it was both.

* * *

 **A/N: Sooooooo, who did Clara just kill? let me know what you think sjdhgskjdg**


	8. on the road to nowhere

**A/N:** **oof happy birthday clara oswald (no correlation to this chapter, i just like remembering her)**

* * *

 _And the like of us may never hope_ _  
_ _For death to set us free_ _  
_ _For the living are always after you_ _  
_ _And the dead are after me_

* * *

Everything happened so fast.

Blood. There was so much blood.

She could only see the blood.

Her vision was blurry.

Her sight was tainted with red stains.

She could only see the red.

She was weak to her knees.

Her fingers lost their grip around the gun.

She fell to the floor.

He was dead. She had killed him.

There was so much blood.

The surviving man tried to pull her to her feet.

Her body was lifeless.

She couldn't breathe.

She was dying, dying, dying.

He grabbed the gun far away from her.

Ignoring the lifeless picture of her.

Her dying, dying soul.

The tears descended her cheeks.

She had killed him.

He was dead.

Time seemed to have frozen around her.

Everything happened so fast.

Everything stopped moving.

She couldn't move.

She was frozen within herself.

She kept dying, dying, dying.

Just like him.

She had killed him.

She was a mother and she was a murderer.

She had murdered him.

She was forced to stand up.

He was obliged to hold her tight otherwise she would have fallen again.

He pushed her out of the door.

He shoved her inside the car.

She had lost all contacts with the exterior world.

She was lost.

Lost.

* * *

 _"Clara. Clara, come back."_

The Doctor was growing insane; he had been calling her name incessantly, for god knew how long, and he was becoming more and more worried about her by the second. She wasn't responding.

After the sound of shots echoed through the four walls, he immediately fell to the ground. He was _sure_ he had been hit, his clothing getting moist from blood. Being shot to death tended to feel _numb,_ and he didn't feel anything. It was the petrified man fallen above him that indicated he had been the one to take the hit. The Doctor struggled to get off from under him.

He found her on the floor, curled in a ball; her pupils were pulsating and dilated, she failed to focus her eyes on anything — not even on him. He wiped away some of her tears, to no avail, since they just kept falling. He tried to steady her, to get her back to reality, however she remained disconnected to everything and everyone.

Knowing they _needed_ to get away from there, the sounds of shots and the dead man lying on the floor bringing just more unwanted attention to them, the Doctor gathered most of their personal belongings as quickly as he could and simply threw them to the trunk of their car. Then, he came back to her.

He did her best to help her stand on her own — she held no authority over her own muscles. He paired her body to his, sliding his arm under both her armpits. She was heavy; not due to the baby growing inside of her, but because gravity insisted on pulling her down. He was responsible for all her weight; she was completely unable to help hold herself up.

He dragged her out of their home and into the car. Her body was so malleable it was hard to fit her inside comfortably. He feared he would slam some part of her when he closed the door. He rushed to the driver's seat, turning the engines on with the screwdriver that worked as the keys. He pulled into the road, dreading to stay there for one second longer.

His only other concern was the mental health of the woman next to him.

"Clara. Clara, come back," he cried, _desperately,_ keeping one eye on the road and the other on her. He wanted to bring her into his touch, although he was terrified of what her reaction to it would be. "Come on, put your seatbelt on."

She clearly didn't hear a word he had said, leaving him the arduous job to stretch out his arm the farthest, until he reached the leather of the belt and brought the buckle into the coupling, securing her. He had no self control when he wrapped his fingers around hers.

And he carried on speaking with a ghost. "It wasn't _your fault_ , Clara. It was self defense, you were protecting yourself, you were protecting your child from growing without a father. Don't hold yourself accountable for what you did. _They're_ the enemies, not us. Not you."

For the first time, she was responsible for some movement of her body. She broke away from his hold and pulled her legs up to the seat, trapping them inside her arms, and moved her head to rest against the window.

She was lost.

Lost.

* * *

It was nearly three in the morning when the Doctor couldn't fight off exhaustion anymore and was obliged to pull the car over to the side of the road, before he unintentionally dozed off behind the wheel and brought an even more serious accident upon themselves.

One accident that could either kill them or have them caught by the authorities.

Clara hadn't moved at all the entire journey; he couldn't tell whether she was awake or asleep — the former, he assumed. Despite how heavy his eyelids were, he would never be able to fall asleep when she was so distressed next to him.

Tiredly, he rubbed his fingertips above his eyes. "Clara, _please,_ talk to me."

He was met with only silence, again. For several moments, the quietude prevailed.

"There's nothing to talk about."

The Doctor was surprised, even startled, by the sound of her voice. It was no more than a whisper, although their surroundings were so quiescent that she seemed to be screaming. He was uncertain whether to approach her or maintain their distance; he remained still. "You're wrong, Clara. Tell me what's on your mind."

She hardened the grip around her legs; she looked so small. The Doctor had seen her vulnerable before, but this was so much worse — she was _broken._ This image of her disturbed him; she was the strongest person he knew.

"My mind is blank," she whispered weakly, understanding her brain's inability to form any coherent thoughts, but failing to comprehend _why_ the blankness of her mind didn't let her slip into unconsciousness.

She wished she could fall asleep. She could escape the monster of the human being she was amidst a land of dreams.

Or, she might only be met with her own monstrosity in her nightmares.

"You're tired. Not only have you had a long, trying day, but you're growing a _life._ That's exhausting enough, by itself. You'll feel better in the morning," he guaranteed, trying to see her in the midst of the darkness of the night.

She sniffed, her forehead pressed to the glass of the window, "I can't sleep."

"Of course you can't. Not in those conditions, anyway," the Doctor said, rapidly jumping out of the car and retrieving a few items from the trunk, before the coldness of dawn froze him right there. He nearly ran to her side of the vehicle, and opened the door. She clearly didn't see it coming, for she almost fell over, given her contact with the door.

He settled her on a proper sitting position; and she was still too out of herself to protest. Pulling some sweatpants up her legs, he struggled to raise her buttocks enough to fit them around her waist — especially when she provided him with no help or willingness. Once successful, he wrapped a blanket around her and brought the dolphin toy to her embrace. "Now you're good to go."

Her facial expression didn't shift at all; she couldn't even bear to look him in the eye. Still, he wouldn't easily give up on her. He held her in his arms and carried her to the backseat, where both of them lay on their sides, even though the available room was too narrow for both of their bodies, even though the coach was too small for them to properly fit in there. It was cozy, nonetheless.

Clara was straddled between him and the cushions, her chest grazing his and the stuffed animal trapped within their torsos. Their breathing was loud and warm against each other's skin. For the first time since the nightmare began, she was at something close to ease.

"I killed someone, Doctor."

Her voice was weak and shaky, so likely the state of her own body. Saying those words aloud — and she was oblivious to how she managed to squeeze them out of her body — made it all so real. Saying them out loud was no more than a confession of her own monstrosity.

The Doctor brought her even closer, despite the physical barriers of their bodies impeding their souls from becoming one. "Clara… You can't beat yourself for that. You did what you had to do. For us, for our family."

She held the dolphin close to her heart. "I stole somebody's life."

"Sh, sh, sh," he tightened the cloak around her. "You're not at _fault,_ Clara."

"I thought I had killed you," she hid her eyes in the crook of his neck, "And I wanted to die, too."

He felt his heart breaking inside of his chest; seeing her in so much pain _killed_ him. "I'm not dead. _You're_ not dead. Nothing else matters, nothing else will ever matter so long as we're together, Clara. You allowed us to be together. You saved our family."

There was an immediate need to hold the womb so full of life, yet there wasn't enough room in the backseat of the car to allow her such a movement. "That officer… That man that I killed… Someone must have loved him too."

The skin of his neck was growing wet from her tears — their flow had yet to slow down, and kept spilling out from her eyes. "And somebody loves _me._ One of us was going down, it didn't matter whom. We were both equally sinful to the eyes of God. Only fate, only the power of your _love,_ allowed me to stand. Forced him to fall. These things, Clara, they're out of our hands."

All his words fell on deaf ears. "I killed a human being while carrying a _life_ inside of me. This isn't my sin, this is my crime _,_ Doctor. My child is going to _hate_ me for my felonies."

"No, Clara," he was as addicted to saying her name as he was addicted to oxygen to breathe. "You _saved_ your child. You did everything in your power to guarantee the survival of your baby. She… She'll only love you for everything you sacrificed for _her_."

He was surprised, however, when a first loud sob escaped her lips. So far, she had been unusually quiet, and this sudden, powerful outburst perturbed him. Her crying only became heavier and heavier. "I killed somebody. I killed somebody, I… I killed somebody."

With a little hassle, the Doctor managed to wrap his arms behind her back, locking her inside his embrace. "You're hurting, and that's alright. That's perfectly reasonable. Taking somebody's life isn't supposed to be _easy,_ or normal. You're supposed to feel that, to feel the pain that burden brings along. But, Clara, what's that _little pain_ when you've got so much to lose? If the pain of killing someone already steals of your breath, just imagine how much _hurting_ and _sorrow_ it would bring you if you lost me, or you lost our child, or you lost both of us. The suffering you're enduring right now wouldn't even compare."

Her sobs were _suffocating_ her; his proposal had only brought her even further distress. "Doctor…"

Her muscles were rigid inside his hold. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put it that way," he apologized sincerely, "Just don't hate yourself for it, alright? We're all here, _alive._ Together. We might not have much, but we have love. That's already more than enough. That's the stuff people have been _killing_ for ever since the early days of humankind. Love, Clara. Just love."

Reluctantly, she nodded, settling herself as close as she could be to him — the dolphin still tightly between them. "I love you."

He didn't need to enunciate those three words in return, as she never once doubted them. Her sobs gradually reduced themselves to silent tears that soon subsided her to a state of sleep. A state of sleep wherein he, in a short time, joined her.

That night, her dreams were haunted.

She was lost.

Lost.

She prayed she would find herself again.

Before it was too late.

Before everything else was lost.

Lost.

* * *

 **A/N:** **WHELP, now we know that the Doctor is still alive, ahem, emfor now/em. Let me know your guesses and hunches whether they're gonna have a happy ending or not lmao**


	9. nobody said we're heroes

**A/N:** **TRIGGER WARNING: if you're one of those people who consider themselves to all kinds of trigger warning (like me) and don't wanna spoil yourself, then you can just scroll past this quickly and move on to the contents of this chapter. I've chosen not to display the following trigger warning since in the tags since it would be a major spoiler to the story, it still is a major spoiler for this chapter. So, i If you're not one of those people, then beware that this chapter holds graphic descriptions of a miscarriage.**

* * *

 _You think I'm still good-looking honey!_  
 _But no, I am faded and spent,_  
 _Even Helen of Troy would look seedy,_ _  
If she followed the pace I went._

* * *

The place was busy, filled with busy people walking in and walking out in too much a rush to match their faces to the same that stamped every national paper. The Doctor and Clara Oswald used the excuse of looking like _death_ rather than themselves to calmly sit by a table in the far corner of an old fashioned diner.

Clara was sitting with her back to the wall, both feet high away from floor, in a posture that wasn't at all corresponded to etiquette. She didn't care about it, she hadn't even noticed her deselegance. The entirety of her attention fixated her eyes on the headlines of the newspaper wide open between the Doctor's hands.

 _'Authorities issue arrest warrant on Clyde for the death of a police officer.'_

She had so much to comment on the headline; she should call the newspapers matrix and tell them they had gotten it all wrong. Then, she should phone the justice system and alarm them that they had erred as well. _She_ was the murderer, not him. She pulled the trigger, not him. She robbed someone of their life, not him. She should be the one to rot in jail for it.

Except she found herself out of words.

She didn't deserve to have a voice.

Not when she had robbed someone else of their own.

Several minutes passed of him flicking through pages before the Doctor put the paper down. Although he had read every and each word, he learned his brain wasn't capable of retaining any information, today, valuable or not, he just enjoyed the little escape those meaningless sentences provided his tired mind.

Until he laid the newspaper across the table and found her eyes blank, staring at everything and looking at nothing at all. Until he glanced at her and was met with the shell of the person she once had been.

It had been little more than two days since the crime that took place at their temporary home, and set them back on the road, and he failed to retrieve any more than three words from her at a time.

"Eat your breakfast, Clara," he commanded, though his tone sounded more like he was begging her _._ The sound of his voice caused her to shift in her seat in the slightest — she wasn't expecting it.

Somehow, her eyes were drawn to the white plate placed on the table, with two french toasts waiting there. Her stomach turned into knots at the simple sight of it. "I'm not hungry."

"Even if that were _true,_ Clara," he commented, pushing the dish closer to her, "The baby needs to eat. If you can't do it for yourself, then do it for _her_."

Had he intended to make her feel guilty, he surely succeeded. The sight of her bringing the piece of bread to her mouth and struggling to swallow it was hard to watch, but the Doctor didn't remove his eyes from her, not even when the corner of her own eyes filled with tears as the food scraped its way down her throat.

Her insides burned at the first contact with the undigested food — she thought she was growing sick. She pushed the plate away from her, its smell alone disturbing her. The Doctor sighed, although he didn't hustle her any further. Instead, he leaned forward to hold her hand. "It's okay. We'll just wrap it up in case you get hungry later."

Her brain failed to process any of his spoken words; she was already too busy just trying to steady her breath. "Can we go?"

He simply nodded, taking a few seconds to stand up. He used the newspaper as a wrapping to her barely touched meal and shoved it inside the inner pocket of his coat, just waiting for her to get up as well.

Clara took even longer than him; every and each of her movements was forced and badly calculated. Her feet fell to the floor with a loud slam, her legs were too weak to force the rest of her body up. She failed to find her balance — everything was dizzy and everything was spinning around her.

"Clara?!" he was startled when her fingers suddenly and tightly grabbed his muscled arm, in some desperate attempt to keep herself from tripping and falling over. Despite his initial strain, he was quick to clutch her closely. "Clara, what's wrong?"

She was pale — paler than before. The ghost that had been haunting her ever since that unfortunate event that took place that night finally grabbed full control of her expression. He assumed it had even taken a hold of her mind when she became rather unresponsive; he just wished all those people around would quit staring at them.

He despised the idea of moving her when she was so out of herself but he dreaded even further the possibility of them being recognized by staying still.

A long exhaled breath indicated she was reestablishing contact with the physical world. "I'm fine."

The little sentence from her was enough for him to take her outside — _drag_ her outside, as her lower limbs were incapable of successfully mimicking a walk. The fresh air certainly helped her _breathe,_ it even returned some of the color to her face, yet she remained just as unsteady and disoriented.

"Jesus, Clara, you're burning up," the Doctor spat out, frightened, as he lay the palm of his hand flat across her forehead. Her eyes never once dared to open themselves; perhaps due the bright sunlight on her face, perhaps she dreaded looking at him and seeing the fear in his eyes.

Her head fell heavier onto his hand, and her lips were dry against his skin. "I'm fine, Doctor."

He refused to believe she would still be so stubborn and stupid when she was carrying _their_ child, so he decided she had to be hallucinating. " _No,_ you're not. Come on, let's get back to the car."

It surely felt like déjà vu when he found himself tucking her into the passenger seat and locking the seat belt around her. That moment, however, he was even more scared than running away from officers that would most likely have taken a long time to reach them at their hideout.

The Doctor struggled to turn on the engine; he failed to maintain his own composure when she was sitting there, next to him, looking so ill next to him. He was _terrified —_ if anything happened to her and the baby, he would _kill_ himself for his failure to keep them safe. His only responsibility was to, protect them from any harm. If he only knew _how,_ he would willingly give his life just so they could _live._

And it all became so much worse when Clara abruptly sank forward, her hands positioned above her belly and from her lips escaped a weep of pain and agony. His foot hit the brakes hard at her wince, only to have her strive even further. Milliseconds later she was curled in a fetus position; hiding her face away from him.

With one hand glued to the wheel, he placed the other on the origins of her spine. "I have a place for us, okay? Just hang in there, Clara. _Please,_ just hang in there."

For he had woken up earlier than her — too early — and decided to wander the whereabouts of the town they had arrived in the previous night. Even though he knew she was just pretending. to be asleep; even though she knew how bad she was at faking, even though she knew how well he knew her. After a long space of time of him walking around, he came across a wealthy house whose owners appeared to be out of town. Regardless of the great possibility of them coming home at any given time, in that precise moment, he saw himself with no other alternative than to drive there, where he could properly assist his companion.

Despite the short distance to their destination, the road never seemed to reach its end.

When it did, everything felt surreal. Everything was crumbling apart.

The Doctor couldn't feel his own legs when he stumbled out of the car towards her. Although he certainly _hoped,_ he didn't bother to check if there was anyone else spying on them. His only concern was her.

"Clara, can you walk?" cried he, his knees bent down so he was at the same height as her small frame; but he couldn't see any sign of reaction from her. Her lack of response was enough of an answer: he pressed his long arm around her waist and dragged her out, carefully not to distress her any more. His question was confirmed when her shins and thighs were completely submissive to his lead and hold over her.

He walked her up to the front door, struggling to get it open while simultaneously supporting her. He most likely broke down the lock — he didn't care, aiming only to get her inside. In that moment, she buckled once again, gravity bending down her spine. The cry she emitted was even louder.

" _Fuck._ Okay, okay. You're going to be alright, Clara, ok? You're going to be just fine. Just breathe, yeah?! Breathe in, breathe out, we're almost there and I'm going to take care of you. I love you, ok, Clara?! You can do this, you're so strong, Clara, and I love you."

The words he pronounced were frantic — he needed to calm himself, assure himself of her well being just as he needed to ease her spirits. Even if he didn't know where they were headed, he managed to find the master room in one of his first attempts. He laid her by the bed.

Under any other circumstances, he would have lied by her side and they would just enjoy the wonderness of the mattress welcoming in their tired bodies. Not that day, though.

For five long seconds, he was gone, returning to her with a wet towel that he placed on her forehead. She was burning up, perhaps even more than before — he couldn't be sure, his mind was too troubled to form coherent thoughts. The heat of her skin soon trespassed to the cold cloth, the cold water of the piece of fabric was soon replaced by the saltiness of her hot sweating.

Clara launched forward one last time when another stabbing pain hit her abdomen; her knees were drawn closer to her belly and her arms formed an x above her womb. There was no point in denying the incessant flood of tears that coated her cheeks, as every jab of pain brought another fresh batch of tears.

"Doctor, I…" she rested her eyes close, but she could still feel his presence by her side, "I don't understand."

He was at complete loss; he failed to come up with any plans on how he could help her. Perhaps she was beyond help from _anyone,_ and he dreaded even considering that possibility. The Doctor found a blanket in the closet and brought it to cover her, only to have her discard it immediately.

Even though he had no answers to her questions, both asked and unasked, the silence was worse than futile words thrown away into the air, "I don't either, Clara."

The cramps were only getting worse, each punch to her uterus stealing a little bit of life from her. She made no effort to suppress her sobs — her cries were all she had, they were the evidence of whatever was left of her strength. She didn't know, if she would be able to survive past what was surely to come.

The moment he had run out of ideas how to help her, the Doctor did the only thing left he could do. He lay down next to her, bringing his arms around her and holding her dearly; the only comfort he was able to offer.

The only comfort he could conjure up for either of them as the life of their child faded away from them.

The painful attacks on her child were growing closer and closer to each other, each hitting her with more pain and sorrow than the one before. Clara's only support was her tight hold around his neck, nearly suffocating him. She tried to trade the erratic rhythm of her breathing for the opulence of the smell of him so close to her; her attempts fell flat.

The sound of her pain was unmercifully killing him inside. He had one of his hands placed above her own, desperately aching to feel the last remnants of life still inside of her. "It's almost over, Clara. I promise you it'll be over anytime now. It's all going to be okay, you're so strong, I know you can do it."

Except she didn't _want_ it to be over. She didn't want to say goodbye to the child she never got to meet and yet loved endlessly. The baby had become part of her and she dreaded to think what would be _left of her_ when she lost her. And that death was just hovering around her, ready to rob her of everything she ever held dear.

There was one last blow, and hot, fresh blood and fluids soaked the crotch of her trousers. They would be ruined, like her life. By then, she was uncontrollably shaking, and irrepressibly crying. The entirety of her body was sore and weak, life had dwindled away from her tired bones. She was empty and broken, and she felt like sleeping forever.

The Doctor pressed the same cloth between her legs, trying to staunch the bleeding. He hoped there were clothes there he could find for her, as he knew she would not want to keep anything drenched in the blood of their child. Although he failed to notice it, his hands were trembling uncontrollably — they were both enduring a grief they weren't acquainted with.

They had already mourned for several things, but never dreamed they would have to grieve for their own child. That pain, so unfamiliar, stole them of their own breaths. That grief destroyed all their dreams and hopes, and brought them to their knees, crying, begging for mercy.

Until her sobs ran out of strength and she was left with silent tears escaping her eyes. "I can't feel anything," her voice was so faint she doubted her words had departed the lips that formed them, "But it hurts _so much_."

He couldn't know which of her sentences had been meant literally and which had been spoken metaphorically, but neither scenario brought him any ease. Because he felt just the same. "I… I wish I could say the pain will pass, Clara… But I doubt it ever will. Because it's not supposed to do."

Clara adjusted her body so her curves fit his perfectly; he was her _rock,_ he was her only reliance if she were meant to survive past the loss of her child. She wasn't surprised when he brought her as close as he could, his own tears falling down from his face to hers and mixing with the saltiness of her own still-flowing tears. "She was _innocent._ "

Amidst the three of them, the unborn child was the only one pristine. Amidst the three of them, she was the only one who truly deserved to _live_.

His fingers buried themselves in the messiness of her hair, his lips planted on her forehead an endless kiss. "We weren't worthy of her. Our sins took her away from us."

Her eyelids were heavy with the burden of all the tears when suddenly she found herself undeserving of those droplets. The Doctor had had the courage to enunciate the only thought in her mind; she had brought it upon herself. She was the only one responsible for her miscarriage. She had _killed_ someone, and her karma was the life that mattered the most to her taken from her as well.

"Clara," he pronounced her name like the most important word in his vocabulary. "You're burning up, still. I need to look for some medicine before you get an infection."

Regardless of his blunt warning, she refused to remove her weight from him. Although she would never vocalize it, for _his_ sake, she wouldn't mind dying, too. As much as it would pain him, she concluded her death would bring him _relief,_ for he wouldn't need to worry about her all the time. Even if she would never be able to _rest in peace,_ for her afterlife would be painful and dark and built from all her flaws and misdeeds.

"Clara, _please,_ " he begged, his voice betraying whatever composure he tried to sustain, "I can't bear losing you too. I wouldn't handle it, Clara, the pain would eat me alive."

Although he would never verbalize it to her, the idea of losing _her_ hurt him much more than the loss of their unborn child. They could make another baby, but they couldn't make another one of her.

Her nod was nearly nonexistent, he felt it nonetheless. Clara, however, only did it _for him,_ not for herself — she couldn't destroy his life as well. The Doctor carefully slipped from her side, helping her sideways and once again bringing the blanket up her body; that time, she didn't refute it. He decided to take care of her bloody clothes later, once he was sure she wasn't fading away from him, too. "I'll be right back, I promise. I love you, Clara."

She showed no indications of acknowledging anything he had said, but he was still obliged to leave her side. Clara was simply left there, trying to grab any links to whatever still existed of her life without any will, strength or success.

* * *

 **A/N: yes yes yes, i'm an evil bitch who couldn't stand the thought of having them be happy lmao. so you're welcome to leave a comment calling me all sorts of names if that's what you want hehe**

 **only one chapter left now, let me know if you think they're gonna have to endure the same kind of ending that the real bonnie and clyde did ;)**


	10. nobody said, we're heroes

**A/N: Whelp, sorry for taking so long to update this story. Turns out I had yet to write the last chapter and rip; On the good side, writing this last chapter gave me inspiration for an epilogue so ! Hope you guys will enjoy this ;)**

* * *

 _From heart-break some people have suffered;_  
 _From weariness some people have died;_  
 _But take it all in all,_  
 _Our troubles are small_ _  
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde._

* * *

Her mind was far away from her body, traveling towards the stars, conjecturing lives she would never live, lives she would never know. She was on her knees, hands touching the ground, her head low — anyone passing by would dare say she was praying, praying to whatever god reigned from the skies and condemned her for her sins.

No; she had too many sins to believe in any heavenly force. And how could she believe in a god that casted so much pain onto her, onto her soul. Even if she deserved all her dooms, how could a god so mercilessly rob the life of the one inside of her, a life that knew nothing but innocence.

There was a heavy presence by her side and an arm wrapped around her. Preventing her from fading away, as she wished every night, while lying awake on a mattress that wasn't her own, her thoughts haunting her existence, castigating her for everything she'd done that drew them here, to that fate.

She had become a prisoner; jailed within her pain and sorrow and misery. She assumed the same had happened to him; she had no way to know — incarcerated in a dark shell of her hollow existence she was, forever trapped, with no hope of freedom.

She had brought all of it on herself, and she deserved whatever happened to her now.

She only hoped he wasn't hurting as much as she was. Even if she _knew_ he was. And she would do anything, if she only could, to save him from his pain.

"Clara," a voice echoed in her head, sending tangling chills down her spine. The voice of the person she loved the most, and the tears surfaced her eyes — she had no idea how his voice alone had so much power over her. The voice that created a sense of safety in her, and made her believe she would, somehow, survive. Even when all odds were against her.

Even when all odds were against them.

Pressing her lips tightly together, she raised her head from the earth beneath her. Looking for him next to her, no matter how much she feared seeing him there. He held so much love and worry in his eyes, she feared the rest of her vain existence would drown in them if she dared to glance at them.

They had gone back to the hill where she had first told him she was pregnant. Regardless that the authorities had increased the search for them, that had been her only request during the days they remained lodged in someone else's house while she recovered. She wanted to go back to the place where it all started, and it would become the place where it all ended.

He was dreadful, at first, however he could never deny her any wish; the only verbalization she had made to him as she grew back her strength.

The Doctor had dug a shallow grave — even if there were no body to bury. As she sat down on the grass, next to flower canteens, twirling the bracelet he had given her around her wrist over and over again, he dug their unborn child's grave. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, watching the dirt being thrown away; watching him build their child's eternal home.

Clara only dared to look away once he put down the stuffed dolphin, where it would rest in peace. She had asked for this little ceremony, and it was all nearly too much for her to bear.

Had she been staring at him, she would have seen his own tears making a wet path down his cheeks. He hadn't cried, not until that moment, for he knew he had to be strong for her — because his pain didn't come close to hers; he wasn't the one carrying life inside of him — and he had to care for her. But digging a grave for the child they would never come to know was a knife in his heart, and he had no control over the silent tears that fell from his face to the little dolphin that signified what they lost.

He set the — stolen — shovel aside, and fell to his knees by her side. He doubted she even noticed his sudden presence there, for she shivered the moment he wrapped his arm around her waist. Ever since her miscarriage, she hadn't been keen on physical contact, and he had respected her wishes; but he had just said goodbye to his child, he _needed_ to feel the presence of the person he loved the most. He needed to guarantee that she wouldn't disappear from him as well.

He wouldn't make it if he lost her as well. He had never been as scared as the days following her miscarriage; the constant fear that she wouldn't survive, whether some infection took her or her own grief, had consumed every thought that passed through his mind. He didn't sleep for days, fearing she would disappear within her dreams into an endless dream. And he was powerless, there was nothing he could have done if she chose to cross to the other side.

If she chose to leave him forever. He knew, however, that the fact he was still alive was the only thing that prevented her dying of grief.

"Clara," her name rasped out of his throat; she quivered once more. He could blame it on the cold autumn weather, but he knew better. She sniffed at the sound of her name, and he could tell that she was doing her best to keep herself together, _for him_ ; because she knew he was hurting too, and she needed to be as strong as she knew how to be. For he wouldn't be able to handle it all on his own.

She brought her head to his chest and laid it there, having his heartbeat echo in her ears. Proof that he was still alive. On her own volition, she hugged him sideways, silently promising him that she would carry him as long as he needed. That she would be brave, and struggle gracefully, while he had his time to mourn.

"She would have been the most loved child," the Doctor whispered, his voice muffled by his mouth buried amidst her hair. His arm met the other one and he secluded her inside his hold. _She was his rock._

She could not name the shape of her lips against the fabric of his tee; _it was wrong_ to display any hints of happiness or a smile when at their _child's funeral._ "She is."

He filled the top of her head with kisses — twice as much, giving her all the ones he had been saving for their child. "You should say a few words, Clara. If you can," he spoke gently, as softly as he could.

And her expression dropped instantaneously. She suddenly became as small as she had been feeling inside. "I don't know what to say. I-I never even met her. I never even… held her."

"It doesn't matter," he said, reluctantly loosening his grip around her — not because he wanted to, but trying to allow her some encouragement. "It doesn't matter that you never met her, or you never held her, or you never heard her cry, or you never gave her a name. What matters, Clara, what will always matter, is that you loved her. That you'll always love her. Love, just love. What everybody is looking for in life, and many are unlucky to find it. And she was loved from the day she came into existence til the day the stars claimed her. Rare are the people that can say that. She was loved throughout her whole life."

Had she noticed the flux of tears caused by his words, she didn't wipe them away. Nodding nervously with her head, she found it in herself to pull away from him, at last diving into his ocean eyes; gaining some of her strength there. "Okay," she mumbled, her cheeks puffy and her eyes red. "Okay."

Struggling, she managed to push herself up. She learned then she was only steady on her knees, but she made herself a promise that one day, when she was ready, she would find balance in her own two feet once more. Clenching her fists and biting her lower lip, she walked towards the grave without faltering. Standing just in front of the wooden white cross he had built from his own hands.

"I…" she tried to force the words out of her throat, struggling with her thoughts and voice. "I don't…"

Although it was still daylight, the skies were grey, as if they, too, were in pain. They were bringing even further sorrow upon that atrocious day of autumn. The flowers that had bloomed had faded and died, painting a dark picture of grief in the scenery. Birds had ceased singing and flown away to escape the heavy burden of death. The entirety of nature was mourning for the tremendous loss the whole world had endured the death of an innocent child before she could even blossom.

Clara fell to her knees, bringing herself close to the ground where the memory of her child resided. Her hands buried themselves inside the scrambled earth beneath her, as if she was trying to become one with dirt where she had come from, and she leaned forward, her forehead resting against the cross.

"You were the best thing to happen to me," she whispered, so low she couldn't hear her own voice. She closed her eyes, wishing to keep her sadness inside. "To us."

For several moments, nothing but their burdened breaths could be heard. She continued, "You came and you brought us a love we didn't know before. You taught us so much, about what it's like to surrender ourselves to another life, about what matters the most in our own lives. You taught us about death. And I promise you, my sweet angel, your teachings shall not be forgotten. You're gone, but you've left us the most important lesson there is to be learned. Not everything ends. Not love, not always."

Clara inhaled deeply, the scent of dry leaves and moist earth. Forcing herself — because otherwise she would never find the strength within herself — she leaned back, and stood back up. Not to her surprise, although it did somehow startle her, the Doctor was waiting just behind her; his eyes were mirroring the darkness of his soul, but if she stared at him carefully enough, she could still see specks of life shining in there.

She chose to rely on that, instead.

Protectively wrapping her arms around herself, Clara approached him, her head high as she forced herself to hold their visual contact. "So? What happens now?"

He brought his hands to each side of her jawline, cupping her faces and staring deeply at the person he still loved the most. Memorizing her every little trait, that he already knew so well, before he lost her too. "Now, we move forward."

She nodded, with difficulty — not because of his hands on her face, but for she knew the path that lied ahead of them. She knew their destiny, and it scared her. "Doctor…"

He pressed his lips to her forehead for a second that lasted forever. "It's gonna be ok. We're together, and so long as we're together, everything will work out alright."

She wanted to say all the things they lost while together. She wanted to say the life inside of her that faded away while they were together. She didn't, for both their sakes. "The plan… You sure there's no other way?"

"There might be," he spoke sincerely, "But I can't think of any that will help us restore our freedom. But, Clara, if you're having any doubts about it…"

"No," she was quick to stop him before he ended his sentence. She had spent a whole lot of time talking herself into his idea; she didn't need any further fears to set her back. "We can do it, yeah? We're together, and you just said it, so long as we're together, we can do anything."

It was uncertain whether she was talking to him or to herself. Giving her mind one last encouragement before their lives took the immediate turn. The Doctor simply agreed with his head, his hands descending from her neck until they found her wrist, where the bracelet that rested, and remained there. He brought the charm that would spend the rest of eternity blank from the nameless infant to his lips and kissed it tenderly. She struggled with the tears once more; he had so much love to give, and that love would most likely die inside of him. Her heart ached inside her chest.

Silently, they both began their walk down the hill, where they had parked their stolen car. Never looking back, so they wouldn't see the parts of themselves that were being left there; never looking back, so they wouldn't be reminded of the memory of the child left, the one they couldn't bring with them.

Because no matter what happened, no matter what the circumstances were, the Doctor and Clara Oswald would never leave each other behind. They would never abandon the person they loved the most to guarantee their own safety, for losing each other was like losing themselves. And how could they ignore everything they stood for by leaving their child behind, and _not_ feel their souls crumbling inside their weak physical bodies?

Silently, they walked away from their infant's grave with the knowledge they might as well have dug their own.

* * *

Clara stared blankly at the narrow road ahead of them. She had her seatbelt safely buckled, her thin fingers grasping at the seat underneath her. Digging her nails into its leather. His presence brooding next to her like a ghost; always there, never touching, only haunting her.

The Doctor had one of his hands wrapped around the wheel, whilst the other remained still around the stick. His eyes should be on the road - like hers - but he found himself too captivated by her to look anywhere else.

"When I was no more than a little girl," her voice was hollow and lifeless; it was there, which was more than he would have expected in that heavy moment. "I always dreamed of escaping. Of running away. This wasn't what I had in mind."

"You didn't dream of becoming the reign's most wanted bank robber and running off with a dashing old man?" he prompted, a smug smile stamping his face; trying to mimic a normality so unfamiliar to them. "Pff. Wonder what your boring dreams and aspirations were, then."

She chuckled, and felt immediately guilty — she didn't allow it to scare the faint expression her lips were shaping, though. "No. I would dream of running away from home and finding someone — a lover or a friend — with whom I could be happy. I'd dream of being free and finding the purest form of love to grow," her voice was gradually lowering, but she did attempt a shy grin over her own thoughts, "I guess some of it became true, at last. I'm thankful for that. I'm grateful that, amidst everything, I've found a lover in a friend, or a friend in a lover, with whom I've found and built a home. Ever since I was a little girl, all I really wanted was that. A home, where I could love and be loved. I've conquered that. I'm happy for that."

The Doctor felt tingles run down his spine at the sound of her words. Hearing her open his heart to him caused his own to hurt; the sensation of failing her, of failing their child and _their family_ , never stopped haunting him. And amidst all their sorrows, she didn't blame _him,_ which he wished she did. He couldn't keep them safe, his failures brought their doom, and _still,_ she was pouring her heart out for him.

She was trying to move on, he knew. And he wouldn't steal that from her; even if their path in life could end at any second. She was being strong, and he admired her for it.

He reached his arm out and grabbed her hand; intertwining their fingers, creating a bond between them that would allow their energy flows to travel from body to body, soul to soul. He shifted his head in her direction, the road ahead of them nearly forgotten. "I love you, Clara. You deserve all the good things; you deserve love, and a home, and a family. I wasn't able to protect _us_ from everything, but I promise you that I'll never stop caring for you. In this life and the next. I promise you that, everything I do, I do it for you."

With her soul light, she leaned forwards — beyond the barriers of her seatbelt — and searched for his lips. She couldn't recall the last time she had properly showed him any signs of affection; he did everything for her, and she was treating him so badly, unable to see anything past her grief, blind to the mourning taunting him as well. She had failed him, both as a friend and as a lover, and she silently promised herself to _be better_ for whatever little time they had left. Completely disregarding that he was driving, she glued her forehead to his and whispered her words to him, "I love you."

They stood like that forever, dwelling on each other's existence; happy that they were lucky enough to exist together.

They breathed in one last time time and he drove them to their ending. The tires squealed against the pavement and the world spun, taking their souls alongside.

* * *

The police officers were putting out the last remainings of the fire destroying whatever was left of the machinery, everything having become dust and ash and grey.

It was a sad sight. To see all the life that was and that could have been reduced to nothing; the officers had their chests tights.

"There's nothing left of the passengers, sir."

"There wouldn't be. The fire consumed it all. It's a shame, really."

"And you think… this is… them? I mean… Bonnie and Clyde?"

"The licence matches to the one reported stolen in the last place they were seen. It's them, it really is them. And they're gone."

"It's a shame, sir, that they would meet their fate like this."

"Yeah, well… They bought their own doom. Everything ends at last, and this is the cruel ending of Bonnie and Clyde. May their souls be forgiven and rest in peace."

* * *

 **A/N: Well... Please don't kill me lmao. This is still a _Bonnie and Clyde_ AU, what other kind of ending could they have skjghsdgs at least they weren't shot to death, that would have been bad. BUT, before you all want to start shooting _me,_ just keep in mind we still an epilogue left ! So maybe... maybe there's hope? Who knows right. Well, _I_ know. And I think you all are going to enjoy the epilogue sooooo... bear with me lmao.**


	11. epilogue

**A/N:** **Whelp, here it is. The last and final chapter. I'd like to thank everybody who kept up with me and had the patience to deal with my lateness, especially the girls on twitter - you're the real mvp. So, with no further delay, here's the epilogue and maybe, _just maybe_ , there might still be hope for the two of them.**

* * *

 _Some day they'll go down together;_  
 _And they'll bury them side by side;_  
 _To few it'll be grief_  
 _To the law a relief_ _  
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde._

* * *

 _Boston, 1969_

"Gran! Gran! Tell us a bedtime story!"

The woman, mid-fifties and starting to grey, smiled and looked] down at the two children cuddled up in the middle of the big king bed. She sat by the edge of the mattress, bringing the duvet up to their necks. "It's a little late for a bedtime story, darling, don't you think?"

The small girl, dark haired and around the age of seven, shook her head with vigor, "Mum always tells us bedtime stories."

"Yes, Gran," the eight years old boy, with a mop of dark blonde curls, concurred, "We can't sleep without a story. Pleeeeease."

"Silly me, of course you can't," she smiled tenderly , making herself a little more comfortable by bringing one leg up. "Well, well. What story would you like to hear? Snow White? Cinderella? Peter Pan?"

"We've already heard those all, Gran."

"Yes, tell us one we've never heard!"

She wrinkled her nose, "I can't think of any you haven't heard, kids."

"Tell them about _Bonnie and Clyde._ "

A heavy, worn voice called from behind, attracting all their attention. Two sets of eyes stared at them widely, full of sparkles and curiosity, while the elder's glowed from fascination as he walked up to her, " _Bonnie and Clyde,_ my dear? I fear they're much too young now to hear the story of _Bonnie and Clyde_ ," she frowned.

" _No!_ We're so big already, Gran! We wanna hear it!" they claimed, both now in a sitting position, too intrigued to be talked back into bed.

"Go on, darling," the man insisted, wearing a smug smile and taking a seat next to his wife. "Tell them a story they'll never forget. The best story they will ever hear."

To him, her face said _I'm going to kill you later._ To the infants, it said, "Alright, then. Let's hear the story of Bonnie and Clyde, the two most legendary bank robbers in England."

"Now, kids, you might think this is a crime story," the grandfather imposed, simultaneously wrapping his arm around his wife's waist. "It's not. It's a love story."

* * *

"And they've been assumed dead ever since the car crash. But their story lives on, it shall never die, be it in books or movies or bedtime tales. Till this day, Bonnie and Clyde are the heroes this world will never claim."

"But did they? Did they really die, Gran?" the children spoke as if in unison, their eyes shining, their mouths shaped by surprise.

"Well," the male voice faltered, lines written all over his forehead. He was looking at the woman for the entire story, never once at the children so eager about the tale; watching her expression shift between reminiscence and sorrow; happiness and nostalgia for a time long buried. He would hold her hand and kiss the back of her head and trace motions on her spine and play with the bracelet on her arm as the story was told, he himself being reminded of the love he had for her like Clyde once had for Bonnie. "Some say the fire burned so hot their bodies were reduced to the dust we all come from. Others, although just a few, believe their bodies were never seen for a reason."

"What's the reason, Grampa?" the boy asked, unable to wait a moment for him to get to that part.

"Yeah, what?" the girl chimed in.

"You see," he elaborated, as the wife leaned herself against his torso and he locked his arms around her, "Bonnie and Clyde _always_ outthought the police. They were smarter and cleverer and faster; the police would never have caught them if it weren't for the crash that took their lives. So, what if… They forged it all? What if Bonnie and Clyde never actually died, hence why there were never bodies to be found?"

"So they're alive! Bonnie and Clyde are still alive!" they were bouncing in their beds with surprise and excitement.

The woman wrapped her own arms around his, "Maybe they are. That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she asked them. They both nodded in unison.

He rested his chin on the crook of her neck, "Word is, they faked their deaths to escape the authorities, and, with stolen money, bought themselves a one way ticket to somewhere else far away. Somewhere they wouldn't be recognized, somewhere they could start over. Somewhere, we could say, like America."

"So they're here! Bonnie and Clyde are here!" both children's eyes were as big and round as saucers.

"They could be," she grinned at their young, innocent faces, "But I guess we'll never know."

"It's a better destiny than dying like that, for certain," he added, a true believer of his speculations.

"I think I've decided what I want to be when I grow up," the little boy said enthusiastically, "I want to be Clyde!"

"And I want to be Bonnie!" the girl piped up.

Both grandparents shared a laugh, and she was the one to comment on it, "It's not an easy life, loves. Bonnie and Clyde faced so much sadness, and so many losses; you don't want that kind of life for yourselves."

"But what you should aspire to have," the old man tilted his head in the slightest, "Is a person with whom you can fall in love so deeply, like they fell for each other. Bonnie and Clyde didn't have a nice life, but they had their love, the most powerful love anyone has ever seen, and their love was their rock."

"Did they love each other even more than you and Gran love each other? Because that's _a lot_.," the girl asked, her face in a frown, as if something so preposterous couldn't possibly be true.

She turned around to look at him, and cupped his jawline. Despite their many years together, the fire of their love had never burned out. "Maybe we come really close."

They kissed each other briefly, before redirecting their attention to the toddlers. "Okay then. Time for bed, kids."

Although they shared sad expressions, and grumbled a bit, just on principle, the two of them climbed back to under the blankets without putting up any real fight. They made themselves comfortable and each of the grandparents kissed each of the children's forehead.

"Night, darlings," their grandmother said to each, as their granddad told them both, "Sleep well, you two."

"G'night, Gran. G'night, Grampa," they said, like little echoes of each other. They each settled in to their pillows, a smile on their faces.

The elderly couple turned off the lights and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Once in the hallway, he simply took her in his arms and whispered, "Those really were the days, weren't they."

She chuckled, her head so near his, "What, the 30s?"

"Yes, _the 30s_."

"I guess we did have our fun, yeah," she agreed, linking her arms behind his neck and bringing herself even closer to him. "Do you ever wish you could go back?"

"All the time, darling," he pressed one kiss to her forehead and one to her lips. "All the time." He sighed. "But nothing lasts forever." He paused again. "Well, except love. Love can last. Always love."

* * *

 **A/N: Oooooof, so this is it. Thank you so very much for everybody who read this and took the time to leave me a comment, ilygsm.**

 **In the following days, I'm gonna start posting a musician!twelveclara au, so if that's your thing, stay tuned ! no pun intended lmao.**


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